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Full text of "Essays on the principles of morality and natural religion. In two parts. 1751"

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— — lim as the Abe 

55 of morality. And as morality ſuppoſes frees 
dom of action, this introduces the third eſſay, 
wwhich it a diſquifition on liberty and neceſſity. 
Theſe make the firſt part of the work. The ret 
of the eſſays, uſhered in by that on belief, hang 
upon each other. A plan is proſecuted, in fup- 
port of the authority of our ſenſes, external and 
internal; where it is occafionally ſhown, that 
our reaſonings on ſome of the moſt important ſub- 
jan reſt utimateh upon ſenſe and feeling, This © 
it illuſtrated, in a variety of inflances; and 
from theſe, the author would gladly hope, that 


he has thrown new light upon the principles of N | 


buman knowledge :-— All to prepare the way, 
for a prof of the exiſtence and per feeTions of 
the Deity, which is the chief aim in this un- 
dertaling. 


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NATURAL RELIGION 


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Of r ArragkuENr 10 Ozjzcrs 
| of DisTRess. 


e ED Previck-author; who makes 
critical refletions'upon-poetry:and 
painting, undertakes a ſubject, at- 
tempted by othets unſucceſsfully, which is, 
to account for the ſtrong Attachment we 
have to Objects of Diſtreſs, not real objects 

only, but even fietitious. It is not ea- 
of (lays be) to account for the pleaſure 
4 take in poetry and painting, which 
« has often a ſtrong refemblance'ts afflition, 
and of which the ſymptoms are ſometimes 
« the mp with thoſe of the moſt lively ſor- 
* row. The arts of poetry and painting are 
6 e more applauded than when they 
« ſucceed in giving pain. A ſecret charm 
« attaches us to repreſentations of this na- 
« ture, at the very time our heart, full of 
11 angoifh, riſes up againft its proper pleaſure. - 
- "G9 A « I dare 


2 ATTACHMENT TO 


I dare undertake this paradox, (continues 
« our author) and to explain the foundation 


40 of this ſort of pleaſurewhich we have in po- 
4e etry an inting; an undertaking that may 


. appear bold, if not raſh, ſecing, it promiſes 


* to account to every man for what paſſes in 
« his ownbreaſt, and for the ſecret ſprings of 


his approbation and'diflike.” Our author 


is extremely ſenſible of the difficulty of his 
fübject; and no wonder, 2297 1 has 1 8 


| Foundatioh.i in human nature. 


28 81 ern 
4 


. us follow him indhis difficult under- 
Ws He lays it dowp as a preliminary, 


that our wants and neceſlities are our only = 
motives to action, and that in relieving us , 


from them conſiſts all natural pleaſure; and 
in this, byt the way, he agrees with Mr. Locke 
in his chapter of Power, ſei. 37. and 43. 

This account of our natural pleaſures ſhall 
be afterwards examined... What we have at 
preſent to attend to, is the following funda- 


— 


mental propoſition laid down by our author: 


„ 
„ 


0 That man by nature is deſigned an active 
we 66 dang; 


a= {i * 


| OBJECTS OF DISTRESS. - 3 
i being: that inaction, whether of body or 
“ mind, draws on languor and diſguſt ;. and 
1 that this is. a cogent mative to fly to any 
.* ſort of occupation for relief. Thus (adds 
be) we fly by inſtinct to every object that 
can excite our paſſions, and keep us in agi- 
tation, not rebuted by the pain ſuch objects 
e often give us, which: cauſes vexatious days 
3% and ſleepleſs nights: but man, notwith- 
i ſtanding, ſuffers more by being without 
N * paſſions, than by the agitation they occaſi- 
% on. This is the ſum of his firſt ſection. 
In the ſecond he goes on to apply his prin- 
_ciple to particular caſes. The firſt he gives is 
that of compaſſion, whereby we are natu- 
rally impelled to dwell upon the miſeries 
and diſtreſſes of our fellow creatures, though 
thereby we come to be partakers of their ſuf- 
ferings; an impulſe that he obſerves is en- 
tirely owing to the above principle, which 
makes us chuſe occupation, however painful, 
rather than be without action. Another is 
that of publick executions. We go in 
* n (ſays he) to à ſpectacle the moſt 
it” 88 „ horrid 


4 "ATTACHMENT TO 
i N 8 
4 A or this „un m our! e re 


0 dreadful the ſcene, the more numerous 
the ſpeQators;” Yet one might" foreſee, 
* even without experience, that cho cruel 
| « circumſtances of the execution, che deep 
_ < groans and anguiſh of 2 fellow creature, 
« muſt make an impieſſion, the pain of 
. which is not to be effaced but by a long 
10 courſe of time. But the attraction of agi- 
« Narr forces ſtrong upon molt people, 
& than the joint powers, of reflection and 
, experience. | He goes on to mention 
the ſtrange delight the, Roman people had 
in the entertainments of the amphiche- 
atre; criminals expoſed to be torn to pieces 
by wild beaſts, and gladiators in troops ſet out 
to butcher one another. He takes this occa- 
ſion ta make the following obſervation 1 upon 
the Engliſh nation: © 80 tender hearted is 
„that people, that they obſerve. humanity 
towards their greateſt criminals. They al- 
18 a 0 fuch ching as toxture, alledging 


1 N 


OBJECTS OF DisrRRESs. 5 
o it better to let a criminal go unpuniſhed, 


« than to expoſe an innocent perſon to thoſe | 


«.rorments which are authoriſed in other 
« Chrriſttan countries to extort a confeſſion 
from the guilty. Yet this people, ſo reſpe&- 
0 22 ir kind, have an infinite epleaſure in 

fighting, bull- beating, and flach other 
40 *. ſpectacles.” He concludes, with 
ſhowing, chat it is this vety horror of ĩnac- 
non, which makes people every day precipt- 
rite themſelves into play, and deliver tem- 
ſelves over to cards and dice. * None bur 
* fools and märpers (fays he) are moved to 
«wt play by hope of gain. The general 
of mankind are directed by another mo- 
<«"tive." They neg lect thoſe diverſions Where 
% Skill and addreſs are Fauired) chuſing ra ra- 


"ther to riſque thelr fortunes at games of 


& mere Ehance, which Keep their minds 3 in 


Sh 4 © 4 


955 Vin OFT 
* 16 deciſibe. 8 | 


| "Pars i is M author' 8 account X — mat- 
| ter fairly ſtated. It bas, 1 acknowledge, an 

air of truth, but the following conſiderati- 
ons 


2 


ATTACHMENT 10 


| ons'convince me that-is not olid. Jn, the 
* Gf firſt place, if the pain. of inaQtion be the mo- 


7 carries us to lach ſpectacles as 


are aboue mentioned, we muſt expeſt to find 
them frequented. by none but thoſe who 
are 52 with idleneſs. But this will not 
be found the truth of the matter. All ſorts 


i of people flack | to ſuch ſpectaeles. Piqures 


of danger, or of diſtreſs, have a ſecret charm 
which: attracts men from the moſt ſerious 
occupations, and operates equally upon the 
active and the indolent. In the next place, 
were there nothing in theſe, ſpectacles to 
attract the mind, abſtracting from the pain 
of inaction, there would be no ſuch thing 
as a preference of one object to another, 
upon any other ground than that of agi- 
tation; and the more the mind was agi- 
rated, the greater would be the attraction of 
the object: but this is contrary to experience. 
There are many objects of horror and diſ- 
taſte, which agitate the mind exceedingly, that 

even the idleſt fly from: and a more apt in- 

"ſtance need not be given, than what our au- 

ww AAA ALI, e VF nk a, 3 be fd E833 36 thor 


- 
. 


ofs OF'DISTRESS. 5. 


thor himſelf cites from Livy, I who, ſpeak- 
ing of Antiochus Epiphanes, has the follow 
ing words: Gladiatorum munus Roman can- 
fuetudinis primò majore cum terrore hominum 
inſuelorum ad tale ſpatatulum, quam volup- 
ate dedit. Deinds ſapiùs dandb, et familia- 
re oculis gratumpue id Hhectaculum fecit, et ar- 
morum ftudium - pleriſque- juvenum accendit. 
Such bloody ſpectacles behoved undoubtedly 
to make, at firſt, a greater impreſſion than af- 
terwards, when by repetition they were ren- 
dered familiar: yet this circumſtance Was ſo 
far from being an attraction to the Grecians, 
that it raiſed in them averſion and horror. 
Upon the ſame account, the Bear- gaiden, 
which is one of the chief entertainments of 
the Engliſh, is held in abhorrence by the 
French, and other polite nations. It is too 
favage an ee eee to de een * 
| . e refined taſte." e DONG). þ 


12 man is conſiders as a being, whoſe 

| only view, in all his actions, | is either to at- 
arr ei e alf 25 * tain 

4 Lib. 41. 


# - ATTACHMENT d 
I ralo-pleafire; opc avoid pain, we mult con; 
_ chadt:ileafurc:and:pain! to he his only im- 
pulſea io action. Upon that ſuppoſitian, ir 
would. be hard. if not impoſlible, to gie an 
ſaixfoery; account: why we, ſhould chuſe, 
ba JEN: te frequent men 
man nature, we diſoover muy and, various 
impulſes to action, independent of pleaſure 
and pain. Let us follow out this thought, 
| 5 ee | 
et Weil 


13-541 750 if 1:43 
| ee Ab" 2 
E by external objects, or to any of our impreſs, 
ſions, we find fe of them ſo ſimple as to 
be altogether without modification. Im- 
preſſions are either ſtrong) or weak, diſtin: | 
or confuſed, &c. There is no diviſiem of im+ 
prefſions more comprehenſive than into a- 
greeable or difagzeeable. Some flight .im- 
preſſions there may be, which give us little 
add . or pain: but theſe may be 
_ 


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_ N 


OBIECTS OF DISTRESS. 


9 
negleRed in the preſent inquiry, The bulk 
of our impreſſions may certainly be diſtin- 
guiſhed into pleaſant and painful. It is un- 


neceſſary, and would perhaps be in vain, to 
ſearch for the cauſe of this difference a- 
mong our impreſſions. More we cannot ſay 
than that ſuch ĩs the conſtitution of our na- 


ture ſo contrived by the Author of all things, 


in . to 1 "wy yu you Fre. 
aid. 1 

An ban! is — e to be at- 
tended to in theſe impreſſions; that Defire 
enters into ſome of them, Averſion into others. 
With regard to ſome objects, we feel a deſire 
of poſfeſſing and enjoying them: other ob- 
jects raiſe our averſion, and move us to avoid 


them. At the ſame time, deſire and averſion 


ate not ſeparate impreſſions, but modificati- 
ons only; each making a part of the total im- 
preſſion, raiſed by the agreeable, or diſagree- 
able object. The pleaſure, for example, of a 
fine garden, and the deſire of poſſeſling it, are 
not different impreſſions, but only parts of that 
entire impreſſion which ĩs cauſed by the object. 

"4 B | The 


10 * NTTACHMENT 'FO'' 
The impreſſion made by any object is one, 
tho it may be annalized into parts. Ic does 
not belong to the preſent ſubject, to inquire 

in wharinſtarices Deſire is raiſed by agreeable 
objects; for deſire does not accompany a: 
greecable impreſſions in every inſtanoe: but 
it muſt be carefully attended to, that Aver · 
ſion does not make a part, or enter into the 
compoſitionof every painful impreſſion. Ob- 
jects of horror and terror, loathſome ob- 
there are many impreſſions, ſome of tham 
gree of averſion in their compoſition. Grief 
is a moſt painful paſſion or impreſſion, and 
yet is the fartheſt, of any thing from being 
mird with any: degree of averſion. On 
te contrary, we cling to the object which 
. Fiſts our grief, and love to dwell upon it. 
Compaſſion is an inſtance of the like nature. 
ObjeRs of diſtreſs raiſe. no averſion in us, 
tho they give us pain. Deſire always makes 
2 part of the impreſſion, deſire to afford re- 


ad Iv | In 


OBJECTS OF DI STRESS. 11 
— x infancy, appetite and paſſion, and the 
deſires and averſions accompanying them, 
ate our ſole impulſes to action. But in the 
progroſs of life, hen we learn to diſtin- 
guiſn the objects around us as contributing 

to pleaſure or pain, we acquire, by degrees, 
impulſes to action of a different ſort. Self- 
love is a ſtrong motive to ſearch about for 
every thing that may conduce to happineſs. 
Self· love operates by means of reflection 
and experience; and every object, ſo ſoon 
as diſcovered to contribute to our happineſs, 
raiſes of courſe a deſire of poſſeſſing . Hence 
t is chat pleaſure and pain are the only mo- 
tives to action, ſo far as ſelf· love is eoncern- 


ed. But our appetites and affections, as a- 


dove explained, are very difſerent in their 
nature. Theſe operate by direct impulſe, 
vlthout the intervention of reaſon; and an- 
ſwer to What is called inftin@ in briite cren - 
tures. As they are not influenced by any 
ſort of reaſoning, che view of ſhuhning mi- 
ſery, or acquiring happineſs, makes no part 
of the impulſive cauſe, It is true that · the 


N 7 a f . | gra- 


— —— — — — 
. 


ta {ATTACHMENT TO 
gratification of our aſſections / and appetites 
is for the moſt part attended with pleaſure; 
and it is alſo true, that, in giving way to a 
particular appetite, the view of pleaſure: may, 
by a reflex act, become an additional motive 
td che action. But theſe things muſt not be 
. confounded with the direct impulſe ariſing 
from the appetite or affection, which, as I 
| have ſaid, operates blindly, and in the way 
of een __— 0 view to conſequen- 


i ces. "i „ 54 Same elta. 
eee r W Ane n 


Ap to * che diſtinction bete ix 
actions directed by ſelf-· love, and actions di- 
rected by particular appetites and paſſions, it 
muſt be further remarked, that though, for 
the moſt part, pleaſure is the conſequence of 
indulging appetites and paſſions, it is not ne- 
ceſſarily, nor indeed univerſally ſa. If che lat 
ter be made out, the former will be evident; 
becauſe there cannot be a neceſſary connee- 
tion betwixt two things, which are in ſome 


Inſtances ſeparated. That pleaſure is not al- 


n the conſequence of indulging our ap- 
peũites 


r . STR EE 6 C —rKö et oe — 
— 1 * 0 . 0 a . * * * - 4 
7 1 4 e e 
CT * 0 


OBJECTS” OF/DISTRESS. 13 
petites and paſſions, will be plain from indue- 
non. Revenge gratified againſt the man we 
hate is attended with pleaſure. - Tis a very 
different caſe, where we have taken offence 
at a man we love. Friendſhip will not allows 
me, however offended; to hurt my friend. 
E..T:cannot find in my heart to do him miſ- 
chief; but I would have him made ſenſible 
of the wrong he has done me.” Revenge; 
thus denied a vent, recoils and preys upon 
the vitals of the perſon offended. It diſplayt 
itſelf in peeviſhneſs and bad humour, which 
muſt work and ferment, till time, or ac- 
knowledgment of the wrong, carry it off. 
This ſort of revenge is turned againſt the 
man himſelf who is offended; and examples 
there are of perſons. in this pettiſh humoun, 
working great miſchief to themſelves, in order 
to make the offenders ſenſible of the wrong. 
Thus, nothing is more common than to find 
a young woman, diſappointed i in love, ready 
to throw herſelf away upon the firſt worth- 
leſs fellow that will ask her the queſtion. | 
—_—_ indeed is indulging the paſſion of ro- 


venge, 


rene, Wees any concomitant plea» 
ge or ſatiefaRion, Far from ir the greate | 
| ex8he degree of indulgence, the greater the 
pPein. My next inſtance will be ſtill more 
mat when the paſſion of grief is at its height, 
the, very Hature of it is to ſhun and fly 
from every thing which tends to give eaſe or 
comfort. He ruſhes on to miſery, by a ſort 
of ſympathy wich the perſon for whom he 
in grieved. . Why, ſnould I be happy when 
my friend is. no more? is the language of this 
paſſion. In theſe circumſtances, the man is 
truly. a ſelf· tormentor. And here we have 
a ſingular phœnomenon in human nature, 
an appetite after pain, an inclination to ren- 


der one's ſelf miſerable, This goes further 
than even ſelf - murder; a crime that is ne- 


ver perpetrated but in order to put an end 
to miſery, eee eee 


* be e eee th cant 

” 4h ae 
W now! FIR — dlcipe 
on is of human narute, given by Mr. Locke, 
| Dr | | and 


\ 


OBJECTS/OF/ DISTRESS. ng 
; and by our French author. They ickhows = 
ledge no motive to action, but what ariſes 
from ſelf-love ; meaſures laid down: tea 
tain' pleaſure, or to ſnun pain. Our pattj 
cular appetites and affectlons, and the d. 
fires and averſions involved in them, are left 
entirely out of the ſyſtem,” And yet we ny | 
fay, with ſome degree of probability; that 
we are more influenced by theſe than by 
ſelf· love. We further diſcover by this in 


quiry, what is of great importance to the/ 
ſubje& in hand, that, as happineſs is not al- 


ways the impulſive motive to action, fond 
ther is it always the effect of an indulge® 
paſſion. | Nay, we find this very ſingular 
phenomenon” in human nature a direct ap- 
petite or deſire, in ſome inſtances, after pain: 
So various is human nature, and ſo compk 
cated its acting powers, that it is not err 
; to be taken in at one view. . 


3 uh 
AND now we return to our ſubject, af- 
ter having unfolded thoſe principles of ac- 
tion _ which it is connected. It may be 
gathered 


teenis eber hd donn, that. 
vature, which deſigned us for ſociety, has 
connefted us ſtrongly together, by a parti - 
cipation of tha joys and miſerics of our fel · 
low creatures. We have a ſtrong ſympa- 
thy with them; we partake of their afflicti- 
ons; We grieve with them and for them; 
and, in many inſtances, their misfortunes af- 
ſect us aqually with our own. Let it not 
therefore, appear ſurpriſing, that people, in- 
ſtead of ſhunning objects of miſery, chuſe to 
dyecll, upon them for this is truly as natu- 
ral as indulging grief for our own misfor- 

tunes. And it muſt be obſerved at the ſame 
time, that this is wiſely ordered by provi- 
— were the ſocial affections mixt with 
any degree of averſion, even when we ſuf⸗ 
fer under them, we ſhould be inclined, up- 
on the firſt notice of an obj ect of diſtreſs, 
to drive it from our ſight and mind, inſtead. 
IHE 


"Nox ought we to judge of this principle, 
26 any way vitious or r. for beſides, 
bude 2 


& 


OBJECTS OF DISTRESS. 17 
that it ig the great cement of human ſocle- 
ty,” we ought: to conſider, that, an no ſtate 
is exempt from misfortunes, mutual Iymp -- 

thy muſt greatly promote” the fechrity nd 
happineſs of mankind. And *tis à much 
more comfortable ſituatlon, that the prof 
pate ty and preſervation of each individual 
ould! be the care of” the Whole ſpecies, 
than that evety man, as the fingle inhabi- 
tafit of a deſert land; ſhould be left to ſtand 
or fall By Himſelf, without profpe&t of re- 
gard, of aſſiſtance from others. Nor is this 
all. When we conſider our own character 
and actions in à reflex view, we cannot help 
approving of this tenderneſs and fympathy 
in our nature; we are pleaſed with ourſelves 
for being ſo conſtituted, we are conſcious of 
inward merit; and Aris a mn ſource 
of farifation.. > | a 


-90 {$691 


To open this bee 4 little tube i it muſt 
be obſerved, that naturally we have a ſtrong 
deſire to be acquainted with the hiſtory of 
our r fellow creatures. We judge of their ac- 

- C tions, 


18 ATTACHMENT 10 0 
tions, approve - or; diſapprove, condemn, OF 
acquit; and in this the buſy mind has 2 won 
derful delight... Nay, we go further. We 
enter deep ioto their concerns, take a fide; 
we parle of joys and difleſſey, with thoſe 
we favour, and ſhow, a proportional averſion 5 
to others. This turn of mind makes hiſto- | 
„ novels and, plays the moſt univerſal and 
yourite.entertainments, „And indeed this 
is no more than what is to be expected from 
man as a Jociable ereature; and we may 
venture to affirm, that the moſt ſociable have 
the. greateſt ſhare. of this ſort of curioſity, 
and the, ſtrongeſt. e to d en- 
e. ee 


ITI. AGE EDY is an imitation or 3 
don of human characters and actions. is | 
a feigned hiſtory which generally. makes a 
ſtronger impreſſion, than what is real ; be- 
cauſe, .if it be a work of genius, incidents 
vill be choſen to make the deepeſt impreſſi- 
ons, and will be ſo conducted, as to keep 


che mind] in coptinual ſuſpenſe and agitation, 
— beyond 


4 aon — 


objicrs O Dis RES 19 
ö beyond what commonly happens i in real life. 
By à well wrought tragedy, all che ſocial | 
paſſions are rouſed. The firſt ſcene is ſeatce 
ended before we are engaged. We take a 
ſudden affection to ſome of the perſonages 
repreſented. We come to be attached to 
them as to our boſom-friends, and hope and 
fear for them, as if the whole were a true 


eh inſteaq wy A Fable, 


To a dry philoſopher, cnn with 
chai entertainments, it may appear ſur- 
priſing, that imitation ſhould have ſuch an 
effect upon the mind, and that the want 
of truth and reality ſhould not prevent the 
operation of our paſſions. But whatever 
may be the phyſical cauſe, one thing is evi- 
dent, that this aptitude of the mind of man, 
to receive impreſſions from feigned, as well 
as from real objects, contributes to the no- 
bleſt purpoſes of life. Nothing conduces 
ſo much to improve the mind, and confiim 
jt in virtue, as being continually employed in 
ſurveying the actions of others, entering into 
49} 4 


de denen of the Aro 2pproving.of 


ciſed by both of Wen equally, 7 mA 
2 ph Tas 0 appear to be a fair a account tof 


ad. ATTACHMENT: 10 


ein onde, © | g'viee, and ſhoy- 


quires Lrengeh by — 28 well ax ithe 
body. But were, there no ppportunity for 
his ſart of diſcipline, but from ſcenes of re- 


21 lie, the generality al men would he. little 


the better for it, becauſe ſuch ſcenes do but 

rarely occur. They, are not frequent even 
in hiſtory. But, in compoſitions where li- 
berty is allowed of fiction, it muſt be want 
oki genius, if che mind is, not ſufficiently 


- Exerciled,, till it acquire the greateſt ſenſibi- 
 Aity, and the moſt prin n vir- 


4 * 1 Peg of 1. J 8 
ue. 4 100 A px 111 'i 10 


Thus, dalex n 6 ear cen, not 
leſs than true hiſtory.” Friendſhip; concern 
for the virtuous, abhorrence of the vitious, 
tompaſſion, hope, fear, and the whole train 
of the ſocial paſſions, are rouſed "ROW excr- 


A 


the anachment we have. to theatrical 105 Ip 


34 


OBJECTS OF DISTRESS. 2x 


tertainments: but when the ſubject is more 
narrowly. examined, ſome difficylties ogcur, 
t9 which the principles above laid down will 
ſearce afford x fatisfaQtory anſwer. | Tis no 
wonder that young people flock to ſuch en- 


tertainments. . The love of novelty, deſire 
of occupation, beauty of action, are ſtrong 
attractions: and if one is once engaged, of 
whatever age, by entering into the intereſts 
of the perſonages.repreſcated, the. attraction 
| turns ſtrong. beyond meaſure, and the. ſtory 

muſt be followed out, whatever be the con- 
ſequence. The foreſight of running one's 
ſelf into grief and affliction will not diſen- 
gage. But people generally turn wiſe by 
experience; and it may appear ſurpriſing, 
when diſtreſs is the 2 effect of 
ſuch entertainments, that perſons of riper 
judgment ſhould, not ſhun them altogether. 
Does ſelf-loye, 1 aſleep 1 in this caſe, which 
is for ordinary ſo active a ptinciple Mhen 
one conſiders the matter @, priori, he will 
not heſitate to draw a concluſion to this pur- 
un chat as repeated experience muſt, * the 


* 


"AKT 
weng ran; make us wiſe enough to keep out 
of Harm's way; deep tragedies, for that rea- 
$66,558} be litde frequented! by perſons of 
reflection. "Yet the contrary is true in fact; 
che deepeſt tragedies being the moſt fre- 
quemed by perſons of all ages, eſpecially by 
thoſe of delicate feelings, upon whom the 
ſtrongeſt impreſſions are made. A man of 
that character; who has ſcarce got the better 
er the deep diſtreſs he was thrown into the 
Fight before by 2 well acted tragedy, does, 
in kis cloſet, coolly and deliberately reſolve 
te go to the next entertainment of the kind, 
without pany 1 eee obRrufion from 


2 55 5 7* nk Vert 3: Fin "D211? 


To Tuts leads to a ſpeculation, b ono 
. of the moſt curious that belongs to human 

-hature. Contrary to what is generally un- 
kerſtood, the above is a palpable proof, that 
deen ſelf-love does not E rs eng to a> 
void pain and diſtreſs. ' In' examining how 
"this is brought about, there will be diſcover. 
e an admirable contrivance in human na- 

aol 4 | ture, i 


+ 
4 


OBJECTS OP DISTRESS. 23 
tore, to give free {cope to the ſocial affect 
ons. Let us review what is above laid down; 
in the firſt place, that of che painful paſſi 

ons, ſome are accompanied with averſian, 
ſome with deſire: in the next place, that of 
the painful paſſions, accompanied with de 


ſire, the gratification of ſome;produces/plegy 


ſure, ſuch as hunger and thirſt, revenge, tc. 
others pain and diſtreſs, ſuch as grief. No, 
upon the ſtricteſt examination, the follows 
ing propoſition will be found to hold: true 
in fact; that the painful paſſions, which in 
the direct feeling, are free from any degree 
_ of averſion, have as little of i it in the reflex 
act. Or; to expreſs the thing more familiars 
ly, 'when we reflect upon the pain we have 
ſuffered by our concern for others, there is 
no degree of averſion mixt with the reflecti- 
on, more than with the pain itſelf, which 
is the immediate effect of the object. For 

illuſtration's fake, let us compare the pain 
which ariſes from compaſſion with any bo- 
dily pain. Cutting one's fleſh is not only 
accompanied with ſtrong averſion in the di- 
9 5 rect 


r 
res feeling, but with an averfion * 
| frong in reſlecung upon the actien after 
durch! We feel no ſuch averſion in feffect- 
jag upon the mental pains above deſcribed. | 
On the contrary, her we reflect upon the 
bein which che misfortune of 3 friend gave 
us; tlie reflection is accompanied with an 
eminent degree'of ſatisfaction. We approve 
of Gurſelves for ſuffering- with our friend, 
vatoe ourſelves the more for that ſuffering, 
and ebdvtady ho natderys/chevefaly whe likes 
. ee 
geh vas mort 3931 218 lat Wonib s 
„Warn ee nel paſks 
oni, which though painful, not only in the 
firſt impreſſion, but alſo in the gratifibation, 
iH I may call it ſo, are yer accompanied 
with no averſion; we find they are all of 
the ſocial kind; ariſing from that eminent 
principle of ſympathy, which ĩs the cement 


, ſociety. The focial paſſions are 


accompanied with appetite for indulgence, 
when they give us pain, not leſs than when 
hey give us pleaſure; We ſubmit willingly 
3991 Sh wang ” -> + £0 


OBJECTS OF DISTRESS. 25 
to ſuch painful paſſions, and reckon it no 
hardſhip to ſuffer under them. In this con- 
ſtitution; we have the conſciouſneſs of regu- 
larity and order, and that it is right and 
meet we ſhould ſuffer after this manner. 
Thus the moral affections, even ſuch of 
them as produce pain, both in the firſt feel - 
ing, and in the indulgence of the paſſion, 
are none of them attended with any degree 
of averſion, not even in reflecting upon the 
diſtreſs they often bring us under. And this 
obſervation tends to ſet the moral affections 
in a very diſtinguiſhed point of view, in op- 


or merely ſelfiſh, 


Many and admirable are the ſprings of 
action in human nature, and not one more 

admirable than what is now unfolded. Com- 
paſſion is a moſt valuable principle, which 
connects people in ſociety by ties ſtrong- 
er than thoſe of blood. Yet compaſſi- 


poſition to thoſe that are either r wiicony 


— 


on is a painful emotion, and i is. often ac- 


companied with pain in the indulgence. 
Mere it accompanied with any degree of a- 
D verſion, 


26 . ATTACHMENT TO 
uſo even in f̃eſſecting upon the diſtreſs 
it occaſions, after the diſtreſs. is over, that 
averſion would, by degrees, blunt the paſſi- 
on, ald at length cure us of what we would 
be apt to reckon a weaknels' or diſeaſe. But 
the author of our nature has not leſt His 
work imperfect. He has given us this noble 
principle entire, without a countet- balance, 
ſo as to have a vigorous and univerſal opera- 
tion. Far from having any averſion to paid, 
occafioned-by the ſocial principles we re- 
flect upon ſuch pain with ſatis faction, and 
are willing to ſubmit to it upon all occaſi- 
as much as if it were a real pleaſure. 


_ Any now the cauſe of the attachment 
we haye to Tragedy! is fairly laid open, and 
comes out i in the ſtrong eſt light. The Bel 
al paſſions put in 727 05 by? it, ate often the 
occaſion of diſtreſs to the ſpectators. But 
our nature is ſo happily conftitated,” that 
ddſtreſs, vccafioned by the exerciſe of the N- 
| e, is 0 a 1 of the 77 | 
RY eſt 


% 


464199 a. 


OBJECTS OF DISTRESS. 27 
eſt averſion. to us, even when we reflect 

coolly and geliberstely upon it. Self. love 

2 ; not. carry us to {hun affliction « of this 
On the & contrary , we are ſo fram- 
60 as a and chearfully ro ſubmit to 
it upon all occaſions, as if it were a real and 
ſubſtantial good. . And, thus, T dy | is al- 
lowed to ſeize w mind with ir | the diffe- 
rent charms which te from the exerciſe of 


dhe. ſocial paſſions, without the leaſt obſtacle 
neee. 1 n | 


: 


IC 111 1410 


A po Phu our * refleted. on the 79 1 
Pathiſigg principle, by which we are led, as 
by a ſecret charm, to partake of the miſeties 
\ofipthers, he would:have had no occaſion of 
recurring do ſo 4mperfett a principle as that 
of averſion to ination, to explain this ſeem- 
i pRradox, that a man ſhould yoluntarily 
chuſe to give himſelf pain. Wuhout enter- 
ing. deep into; philoſaphy, he might have 
had hints in abundance from common life 
to explain! ir. In every corner, perſons arc 
0 9 with of ſuch a ſympathiſing tem- 


per, 


28 ATTACHMENT ro 
pe, as to chuſe to ſpend their lives' with 


the diſeaſed and diſtreſſed. They partake 


with them in their afflictions, enter heartily 
into their concerns, and ſigh and groan with 
them. Theſe paſs their Mes in fadnefs and 
deſpondency, without having any other ſatis- 
faction than what arifes upon the refleftion 
of having done thelr duty, 3 = N 


And. if this account of that Ate 
juſt, we may be aſſured, that thoſe who are 
moſt compaſſionate in their temper will be 
fondeſt of Tragedy, which affords them 2 
large field for indulging the paſſion, And 


indeed admirable are the effects brought - 


„ 


bout by this means: for, paſſions as they 


gather ſtrength by indulgence, fo they de- 


cay by want of exerciſe. Perſons in pro- 
ſperity, unacquainted \ with diſtreſs and miſe- 
ry, are apt to grow hard-hearted, Tragedy 
s an admirable reſource in ſuch a cafe.” It 


ſerves to humanize the temper, by fopplying 


feigned objects of pity, which have nearly 


"the lane een to exerciſe the paſſion that 
real 


OBJECTS OF DISTRESS. 29 
real objects have. And thus it is, that we 
are carried by a natural impulſe to deal 
deep in affliction, occafioned by repreſenta- 
tions of feigned misfortunes ; and the paſſi- 
on of pity alone would make us-throng to 
ſuch repreſcritations, were there nothing elſe 


Tos attract os 0 or to afford ne 


"Iris owing to N a public ex- 
ecutions are ſo much frequented. Senſible 
people endeavour to correct an | appetite, 
which, upon indulgence, gives pain and a- 
verſion, and, upon reflection, is attended 
with no degree of ſelf-approbation. Hence 
it is, that ſuch ſpectacles are the entertain» 
ment of the vulgar chiefly, who allow them- 
ſelves blindly to be led by the preſent in- 
ſtinct, with little attention whether it be 

c conducive 1 to ds good ar not. A 

| '+ 
TY as for vrize-fighting. 0 eke 
an ſhows, nothing anĩmates and inſpires us 
more than examples of courage and bravery. 

We catch the ſpirit of the actor, and turn 
. bold 


—— — 


AAN TO... - 
bold and intrepid as the appears. to be. Ona 


9 


the; other hand, | we enter into the diſtreſſes 
of, the ranguilhed, and have a ſympathy, for 
in proportion to. the gallantry of their 
behaviour. . No wonder, then, hat ſuch 
ſhows are. frequented by perſons of the beſt 
tlie... We ere led by the; fame, principle, 
that makes us fond of peruſi ing the lives of 
herots/and of conquerors. .; And it may be 
obſerved by-the-by,that ſuch ſpeQacles haxę 
 an6dmirable good: effect in traiging up the 
yohth, t6:baldneſs and. reſolution. - In this, 
thereforc, 1 ſee not chat Foreighers have rea- 
4 bo condemn the Engliſh taſte. Spec- 
ailrs of his fort. deſerve renconragement 
from the tate, pepe S ee 


Free ed bel off ot q{baik. e515) 


2 315 T's 's LW: 001301531, il 63 LTH nt : 
As for gaming, — myfall to 
tbink that there is any pleaſure in having 
the aitinid kept»indyſpenſes; and as it were 
upon the rack,:which muſt be: the ce % 
thoſe ho venture theit money at games of 
1 Inaction and idleneſs are not T 

* 


' OBJECTS OF DISTRESS. 31 


far ſo-hard to bear. I am ſatisfied that the 
love of money is at the bottom. Nor is it 3 
ſolid objection, that people will negle& games 
of skill and addreſs, to venture their money 
at hazard; forghis may be owing to indo- 
lence, diffidence, or impatience. There is 
indeed a curious ſpeculation with regard to 
this article of gaming, that pleaſure and pain 
attend good and bad ſucceſs at play, inde- 
pendent of the money loſt or win. It is a 
plain caſe, that good luck raiſes our ſpirits, 
as bad luck depreſſes them, without regard 
to conſequences: and it ſeems extremely 
clear, that our concern at game, when we 
play for trifles, is owing to this very thing. 
What may be the root of this affection, is 
not ſo obvious. But as it is not neceſſarily 
connected with our preſent theme, I ſhall | 
leave it to be inveſtigated by others. 


ESSAY IL 


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9 - 


UBERFICIAL knowledge produces the 
82 boldeſk adventurerg, becauſe it gives 
no check to the imagination, hen fired 
by, 2 new thought. Writers of this ſtamp 
lay dawn. plant, conttive. models, and arc 
hurried, on to execution, by the pleaſure of 
novelty, without conſidering whether, after 
all, there is any ſolid, foungatign, 19 ſupport 
the ſpacious edifice. It redounds not a little 
to the honour of ſome late inguirers-after 
— that, ſybdping this bent of nature, 
they have ſubmitted to the low-and more 
painful ſtudy of facts and experiments. N: ar, 
rural. philoſophy, i; all its branches, is 80. 
vanced by this laborious method. The ac- 


curate Mr. Locke has purſued. the. fame 
track in the ſcience of logicks, and has been 


followed by { ſeveral i ingenious writers. But 
| E it 


34 PRINCIPLES OF THE 


it ſeems to fare hard with the miſtreſs-ſci- 
ence, that leſs deferetice is paid to her than 
to her hand- maids. Every author exhibity 
a ſyſtem of morals, ſuch as cheſt ſuits his 
taſte and fancy. He frames regulations for 
human conduct, without conſidering whe- 
ther they ariſe out of human nature, or can L 
be accommodated to it. And hence many 
airy ſyſtems that relate not more to man, 
than to many other beings. Authors of a 
warm imagination, and benevolent turn of 
mind, exalt man to the angelic nature, and 
compoſe laws for his conduct, fo refin'd as to 
be far above the reach of humanity. Others 
of a contrary diſpoſition, forcing down all 
men to a level with the very loweſt of their | 
kind , aſſign them laws more ſuitable to brutes 
than to rational beings. In abſtract ſcience, 
philoſophers may more innocently indulge 
their fancies. The worſt that can happen is, 
to miſlead us in matters where error has 
little influence on practice: but they Who 
deal in moral philoſophy ought to be cauti- 
on for their errors ſeldom fail. to have a 
, bad 


LAW OF NATURE. 35 
bad tendency. The exalting of nature a- 
bove its ſtandard is apt to diſguſt the mind, 
conſcious of its weakneſs, and of its inabili- 
ty to attain · ſuch an uncommon degree of 
perfection. The debaſing of nature tends to 
break the balance of the affections, by add- 
ing weight to the ſelfiſh and irregular appe- 
tites. A cruel effect this, but not the only 
bad one. The many claſhing opinions a- 
bout morality are apt to tempt readers, who 
have any hollowneſs of heart, to ſhake off 
all principles, and to give way to every ap- 
petite as ĩt comes uppermoſt: and then adieu 
to a juſt tenor of - * W 'of 
conduR. 01TH 1 


Ti ESE conſiderations give the author-of 
this eſſay a juſt concern to proceed with the 
utmoſt circumſpection in his inquiries, and 
to try his concluſions by their true touch- 
ſtone, that of facts and experiments. Had 
this method been ſtrictly followed, the world 
would not have been perplexed with many 
various and inconſiſtent ſlyſtems, which un- 


* happily 


36 PRINCIPLES OF-/THE 


happily. have rendered morality a difficult 
and intricate ſcience. - Ap attempt to reflort 
it to its ongival ſimplieity and authority, muſt 
be approved of, howeyer ſhort one falls in 
the excention. Authors differ about the 
otigin of the laws of nature, and they 
differ about che laws themſelves. It will 
perhaps be bound, that there is leſs diffe · 
rence about the former in rrality, than in 
appearance, It were to be wiſhed; that the 
different opinions about the latter eould be 
as happily reconciled, But as the author àc- 
knowledges chis to be above his reach; he 
muſt take up with, a leſs agrecabls task, 
which is to attempt a plan of the laws af na- 
ture, drawn from their proper, WG, with 
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. FounnariON 5 the Law 6 
i NATURE. 8 


®, 


* aids fot the unis ak 
1 laws 6f our nature; the following re- 
flectionb readily occur. In the firſt place, 
two things cannot be more intimately con- 
nected than a being and its actions; for the 
connection is that of cauſe and effect: ſuch 
as the being is, ſuch muſt its actions be. In 
the next place, the ſeveral claſſes into which 
nature has diſtributed living creatures, are 
not more diſtinguiſhable by an external form, 
than by an internal Conſtitution, which ma- 
nifeſts itſelf in a certairi uniformity of: con+ 
duct, peculiar to each ſpecies. In the third 
place, any action, conformable to the com- 
mon nature of the ſpecies, is conſidered by 
us as regular and good: it is acting accord- 
ing to order, and according to nature. But 
if there exiſts a being, with a conſtifinion 
different from that of its kind, the actions 
x 27nd cho agreeable-to'its own pes 


culiar 


38 FOUNDATION OF THE 
culiar conſtitution, will, to us, appear whim- 
ſical and diſorderly: we ſhall have a feeling 
of diſguſt, as if we Aw a man with two heads 
or four hands. Theſe reflections lead us to 

+ the foundation of the laws of our natuſe. 
They are to be derived from the common 
nature of man, bange — 
| e e not a — © 991 


. 


1 yr ion RR 4 
work of all morality, it may not be improper 
Ang around, we find creatures of very diffe- 
rent lands, both as to their external and in- 
ternal conſtitutions. Each ſpecies: having 2 
pecuſiar nature, muſt have a peculiar rule of 
action reſulting from its nature. We find 
- thisto hold in fact; andb it is extreme agrees 
able to obſerve! how accurately the laws of 
each ſpecies, ariſing from its nature, are ad- 
juſted to its external frame, and to the cir- 
cuimſtances in which it is placed; fo as to 
procure the conveniencies of life in the beſt 
manner, and to produce regularity and con- 
"tf ſiſtenex 


LAW OF NATURE. 39 
ſiſtency of conduct. To give but one in- 
ſtance, The lag which govern ſociable 
creatures, differ widely from thoſe which 
govern che ſavage and ſolitary. Nothing 
more natural nor more orderly among ſoliz 
rar} creatures, who have no mutual connec- 
tion, than to make food one of another: 
But for creatures in ſociety to live after this 
manner, behoved to be the effect of jarring 
and inconſiſtent principles. No ſuch diſor- 
derly appearance is to be met with upon the 
face of. this globe. There is, as above ob- 
ſerved, a harmony betwixt the internal and | 
external conſtitution of the ſeveral claſſes of 
animals; and this harmony obtains ſo uni- 
verſally, as to afford a delightful proſpett. of 
deep deſign regularly carried into execution. 


The common nature of every claſs. of be- . 


ings is felt by us as perfect; and, therefore, 
if, in any inſtance, a particular being ſwerve 
from the common nature of its kind, the 
action upon that account is accompanied 
with a ſenſe of diſorder and wrong. Thus, 
as we · have a ſenſe of right from every ac. 
2 tion, 


% FOUNDATION. OF THE 
tioh; which is cnfdrmable to this common 
5 _ che nennen to . 
ok ſource; this the. common: nature of 
the ſpecict. In a word, it ig according to 
ordert, that the different forts of living ctea- 
tures hould be governed by Jaws adapted 
da nbeir peculiar natura. We conſider it. as 
fit.and froper that it ſhould be ſo; and it is 
a: hezutiful ſcene to ſind creatures acting ac- 
danding to their nature, and thereby aR- 
ing uniformly, and Tong eig e 65. 
nn vid 21 vr O 


un force, X this e eatngh, at 
3 any; rate, be reſiſted by thoſe who admit of 
final. cauſes, We make no difficulty to pro- 
nounce, that a ſpecies. of heings are madę 
for fuch and ſuch an end, who are of ſuch 
and ſuch a nature. A lion is made to pur- 
| chaſe the means of life by his claws. Why! 
becauſe ſuch is his nature and conſtitution. 

A man is made to purchaſe the means of life 


by.the help of others, in ſociety. "opt 


1 


LAW OF NATURE. 41 


becauſe, from the conſtitution both of his 
body and mind, he cannot live comfortably 
but in ſociety. It is thus we diſcover for 
what end we were deſigned by nature, or 


the author of nature; and the ſame chain 


of reaſoning points out to us the laws by 
which we ought to regulate our actions. 
For, acting according to nature, is acting ſo, 
as to anſwer the end of our creation. 


3 N — 1 
1 L >» 
LY * 4 a p q Fl : 4 1 4 : — * 1 * - Yo 
p © 2 = * $ 
* 
- 
* 


Mads bs SF. 4 44543; 


we Tt cn. 1.“ 1 = Th 
tf the — * 8.1 vr. 
TAYING ſhown. that ho. ature, of 

man is the only foundation of the 
laws, that ought to govern his actions, it will 
be neoefary o trace out human nature with 
all the accurscy poſſible, ſo far as. regards 
the preſent ſubject. If we can happily ac- 
compliſh this undertaking, it will be eaſy, in 
the ſynthetical method, to deduce the laws 
which ought to regulate our conduct. And 
we ſhall examine, in the firſt place, after 
what manner we are related to beings and 
things about us; for this ſpeculation will 
lead to the point in view. 


As we are placed in a great world, ſur- 
rounded. with beings and things, ſome bene- 
ficial, others hurtful ; we are ſo conſtituted, 
that ſcarce any of the objects of perception 
are indifferent to us. They either give us 
pleaſure or pain. Sounds, taſtes, and ſmells, 
are either agreeable or diſagrecable. And 
the 


LAWOF NATURE. 42 
| the thing is moſt of allremarkable iy the ob- 
jets of fight, which aſſect us in a more hve- 
ly manner than the abjects of any other ex- 
ternal ſenſe. Thus, a ſpreading oak, a, ver- 
dant plain, a large river, are objects which 
afford great delight. A rotten carcafe, a dif 
torted figure, create averſion, which, in ſome 
Iſtances goes the dien of horror.” 578 
With regard to objects of fight, : 3 
ever giyes pleaſure, is ſaid to be Beautiful; 
whatever gives pain, is faid' to be Ugly. 
The terms Beauty and Uglineſ, .. in their 
original ſignification, are confined to objects 
of ſight: and indeed ſuch objects, being more 
highly agreeable or difagreeable than o- 
thers, deſerve well to be diſtinguiſhed by a 
proper name. But tho' this is the proper 
meaning of the terms Beauty and Uglineks, 
yet, as it happens with words which convey | 
a more lively idea than ordinary, the terms 
are applied in a figurative ſenſe to almoſt 
every thing which carries a bigh reliſh or 
diguſt, tho not the object of f ight, where 
theſe 


4 LAW OF NATURE. 
dase feelings have: not a proper name of 
cheir own. - Thus, we talk of a beautiful 
theorem, a beautiful thought, and a beauti- 
ful ation. And this way of ſpeaking has, 
by common- uſe, become ſo familiar, that it 
18 ſcarce e a . pt - of a 


1 77 Tit & 211 


"Tax 8 ind, pain mhich ariſe from 
objects conſidered ſimply as exiſting, with- 
out relation to any end propoſed, or any de- 
ſigning agent, are to be placed in the loweſt 
rank or order of Beauty and Uglineſs. But 
when. « external ohjects, ſuch as b of art, 
ae conſidered with relation ſome end 
propoſed, 6, feel a, higher. tfegree | of pl plea- 
Tore © or pain. 'Thus, a building rapular i in all 


is parts pleaſes the eye, ypon, the very firſt 
view.. But conſidered as 4 houſe for dwell- 


ing in, which f is the end propoſed, it plea- 
Es ſtill more, ſuppoſing it to be well fit- 
ted to its end, A ſimilar, ſenſation atiſes 
in obſerving the operations of a well order- 
ed ſtate, where the parts are nicely adjuſt- 
d io the aa of ere and happineſs, 


raue! Tais» 


LAW OP NATURE. 45 
:-Tx1s: perception of Beauty in works of 
art or deſign, which is produced not barely 
by a ſight of the object, but by viewing the 
object in a certain light, as fitted to ſome uſe, 
and as related to ſome end, includes in it 
what is termed Approbation: for approbati- 
on, when applied to works of art, means, 
preciſely, our being pleaſed with them, or 
eonceiving them beautiful in the view of 
being fitted to their end. Approbation and 
Diſapprobation do not apply to the firſt or 
loweſt claſs. of beautiful and ugly objects. 
To ſay that we approve of a ſweet taſte, or 
of a flowing river, is really ſaying no more, 
than barely that we are pleaſed with ſuch 
objects. But the term is juſtly applied to 
works of art, becauſe it means more than 
being pleaſed with ſuch an object merely as 
exiſting. It imports a peculiar beauty, which 

is perceived upon conſidering the” object * 
ons to the ule os. | 


* 4 


i: ep 8 be ** obſerved, to avoid ob. 
a that the beauty, which ariſes from the 
relation 


45. LAW OF NATURE. 
relation of an object to its end, is indepen- 
dent of the end itſelf, whether. good or bad, 
whether, beneficial-or hurtful: far the feel 
ing ariſes merely from conſidering its fitneſs 
to the cnd propoled, vet that end * 


R * we a the 0 itſelf dw con- 
ſderation, there is diſcovered a diſtin& mo- 
dification of Beauty and Uglineſs, of a high- 

er kind than the two former. A beneficial 
end propoſed, ſtrikes us with a very peculi. 
ar pleaſure; and approbatlon belongs alfa 


do this feeling. Thus, the mechaniſm of a 


ſhip is beautiful, in the view of means well 
fitted o an end. But the end itſelf of car - 
tying on commerce, and procuring ſo many 
eonveniencies to mankind, cxalts the object, 
an qi heightens our approbation and pleaſure. 
By, an End, I mean, that to which any thing 
is fit ed, which ĩt ſetves to procure and bring 
about, whether it be an ultimate end, ot ſub- 
ordinate to ſomething further. Hence, what 
is conſidered às an end in one 'view, may 
be conſidered as a means in another. But 
101780 1 | ſo 


LAW Oo NATURE 47 


ſo far as it is conſidered as an end, the de- 
gree of its Beauty depends upon the degree 
of its uſefulneſs. The feeling of Approba- 
tion here terminates upon the thing itſelf 1 in 
many inſtances, abſtracted from the intention 
of an agent; which intention, coming into 
view as good or bad, gives riſe to a modifica- 
tion of Beauty or Deformity, diff different from 
thoſe above ſet forth, as ſhall Preſently | 
explained. Let it be only kept in view, that, 
as the end or uſe of a thing 1 is an object of 
greater dignity and importance than the 
means, the approbation beſtowed on the 
former riſes higher than that beſtowed on 
the latter, - 


Turst three orders of Beauty may be 
blended” together! in many different ways, to 
have very different effects. If an object, 
in itſelf beautiful, be ill fitted to its end, it 
will, upon the whole, be Aifagrecable. This 
may be exemplified, in-a houſe regular in 
its architecture, and beautiful to the eye, 
but incommodious for dwelling, If there 


is 


—_— 


geſted. 


45 LAW OF NATURE. 


is in an object an aptitude to 2 bad end, it 


will, upon the whole, be diſagreeable, tho 
it have the ſecond modification of beau- 
ty in the greateſt perfektion. A conſtituti- 
on of government, formed with the moſt 


perfect art for enſlaing the people, may be 


an inſtance of this. If the end propoſed is 
good, but the object not well fitted to the 
end, it will be beautiful or ugly, as the 


goodneſs of the end, or unfitneſs of the 


means, are prevalent. Of this, inſtances 


will occur at firſt view, without being ſug- 
11 "It 


Tak above modifications of beauty and | 
deformity, apply to all objects animate and 
inanimate. A voluntary agent is an object 


which produces a peculiar modification of 


beauty and deformity, which, may readily 
be diſtinguiſhed in the feeling from all o- 
thers. The actions of living creatures are 


more intereſting than the actions of matter. 
The inſtinets, and principles of action of the 
former, give us more delight than the blind 


powers 


ep 


LAW OF NATURE. 49 
powers of the latter, or, in other words, are 
more beautiful. No one can doubt of this 
fact, Who is in any degree converſaht with 
the poets. In Homer every thing lives. 
Even darts and arrows are endued with vo- 
luntary motion. And we are ſenſible, that 
nothing animates a poem more than the 
Fe e of da _ 1 


Nutz 1 5 a new modification of the 
* and deformity of actions, conſider- 
ed as proceeding from intention, deliberati- 
on and choice. This modification, which 
is of the utmoſt importance in the ſcience of 
morals, concerns principally human actions; 
for we diſcover little of intention, delibera- 
tion and choice in the actions of inferior 
creatures. Human actions are not only a- 
greeable or difagreeable,' beautiful or deform- 
ed, in the different views above mentioned, 
but are further diſtinguiſhed in our feeling, 
as fit, right and meet to be done, or as 
fit, unmeet and wrong to be done. Thele ale 
96 feelings, capable of no definition, an 

G 


1 = 
2 ? 


which | 


which cannot des bs! expliined, than 
by making uſe of the words that are appro- 
priated to them. But let any man atten- 
tively :examine” what paſſes in his mind, 
vhen the object of his thought is an action 
proceeding from deliberate intention, and 
he will ſoon diſcover the meaning of theſe 
words, and the feelings which they denote. 
Let him but attend to a deliberate action 
ſuggeſted by filial piety, or one ſuggeſted by 
gratitude; ſuch actions will not only be agree- 
able to him, and appear beautiful, but will be 
agreeable: and beautiful as t, rigbe and meet 
to be done. He will approve of the action 
in chat quality, and he will approve of the 
actor for having done his duty. This pecu- | 
liar feeling,” or modification of beauty and 
deformity” in human actions, is known by 
the name” of moral beauty, © and moral de. 
ermit- "In it conſiſts the morality and 
immorality of human actions; and the pow - 
er or Faculty, by which we perceive this dif- 
ference among actions, nk under the name 
of the moral ſenſe. W | 


IT 


LAW OF NATURE. 51 
Ix is but a ſuperficial account which is 
given of morality by moſt writers, that it 
depends 7 Approbation and Diſappro- 


bation. For it is evident, that theſe terms 
are applicable to works of art, and to ob- 
jects beneficial and hurtful, ag well as to 
morality. It ought further to haye been ob- 
ſerved, that the approbation or. diſapproba- 
tion of actions, are feelings, very diſtinguiſh- 
able from what relate to the objects now 
mentioned. Some actions are approved of 
as good and as fit, right and meet to be 
done; others are diſapproved of as bad and 
_ unfit, unmeet and wrong to be done. In the 
one caſe, we approve of the actor as a good 
man; in the other, diſapprove of him as a 
bad man. Theſe feelings don't apply to ob- 
jets as fitted to an end, nor even to the 
end itſelf, except as proceeding from delibe-. 
rate intention. When a piece of work is 
well executed, we approve of the artificer for 
his skill, not for his goodneſs. Severel 
things inanimate, as well as animate, ſerve to 
extreme good ends. We approve of theſe 
ends as uſeful in chemſelves, but not as mo- 

rally 


32 LAW OF NATURE. 
rally fit and right, where they are not e con- 
ſidered as the reſult of intention. 


or all objects whatever, human actions 

are the moſt highly delightful or diſguſtful, 
and afford the greateſt degree of beauty or 
deformity. In theſe every modification con- 
curs: the fitneſs or unfitneſs of the means: 
the -goodneſs or badneſs of the end: the 
intention of the actor, which gives them the 
peculiar character of fit, right and meet, or 
unfit, wrong and unmet. 


Tus we find the nature of man ſo con- 
ſtituted, as to approye of certain actions, and 
to diſapprove of others; to conſider ſome 
actions as fit, right and meet to be done, 
and to conſider others as wnfit, unmeet and 
wrong. What diſtinguiſhes actions, to make 
them objects of the one or other feel- 
ing, will be explained in the following cha- 
pter. And perhaps it will further appear, 
with regard to ſome of our actions, that 
the approbation, or diſapprobation beſtow- 
ed, has a more peculiar modification than 
has been hitherto obſerved, to be a founda- 
We | uon 


LAW OF NATURE. 33 


tion for the well known terms of duty and 
obligation, and conſequently for a rule of 
conduct, which, in the ſtricteſt ſenſe, may 
be termed a law. But, at preſent, it is ſuffici- 
ent to have explained in general, that we are 
ſo conſtituted as to perceive or feel a Beau- 
ty and Deformity, and a Right and Wrong 
in actions. And this is what ſtrongly cha- 
racteriſes the laws which govern the actions 
of mankind. With regard to all other beings, 
we have no Data to diſcover the laws of their 
nature, other than their frame and conſtitu- 
tion. We have the ſame Data to diſcover 
the laws of our own nature. And, we have, 
over and above, a peculiar feeling of approba- 
tion, or diſapprobation, to point out to us what 
we ought to do, and what we ought not to 
do. And one thing is extremely remark- 
able, which will be explained afterwards, 
that the laws which are fitted to the nature 
of man, and to his external circumſtances, 
are the ſame which we approve of by the 
moral ſenſe, 


- oofpRRes CHAP. 


34 : 
* 
* +» 
ka TY 


0 HA p. III. | 
Of Dor? and Oy116 ATION. 


Ho. theſe terms are of the f im- 
portance in morals, I know not that 
ny. author has attempted to explain them, 
by pointing out thoſe principles or feelings 
which they expreſs. This defect I ſhall en- 
deavour to ſupply, by tracing theſe terms to 
their proper ſource, without which the ſyſ- 
tem of morals cannot. be complete, becauſe 
they point out to us the moſt preciſe and bh: 
ſential branch of . | 


Loxp Shofieabury, as .oul 
is much indebted for his ineſtimable writ- | 
ings, has clearly and convincingly made out, 
&* that virtue is the good, and vice the ill of 
© every one.” But he has not proved vir- 
tue to be our duty, otherways than by ſhow- 
ing it to be our intereſt, which does not come 
up to the idea of duty. For this term plain- 
ly implies ſome what indiſpenſible in our con- 

| duct; 


LAW OF NATURE. 35 
duct; what we ought to do, what we ought 
to ſubmit to. Now a man may be conſider- 
ed as fooliſh, for acting againſt his intereſt, 
but he eangot be conſidered as wicked or M. 

tious. His lordſhip, indeed, in his eſſay up- 
on virtue , points at an explanation of Du- 
ty and Obligation, by afferting the ſubordi- 
nacy of the ſelf-· affections to the ſocial. But 
tho he ſtates this as a propoſition to be 
made out, he drops it in the after part of 
his work, and never again brings it into 


view, 


Mr. Hutchiſon, in his eſſay upon. ba 
and virtue +. founds the morality of a- 
ons on à certain quality of actions, which 
procures approbation and love to the agent. 
But this account of morality is imperfect, 
becauſe it excludes juſtice, and every thing 
which may be ſtrictly called Duty. The 
man who, confining himſelf. to ſtrict duty, 
is true to his word, and avoids harming o- 
thers, is a juſt and moral man; is intitled to 

ſome 


page 98. f Page 101. 


356 LAW OF NATURE. 
ſome ſhare of eſteem, but will never be the 
object of love or friendſhip. - He muſt 
ſhow a diſpoſition to the good of mankind, 
at leaſt of his friends and neighbours: he 
muſt exert acts of humanity and benevo- | 
lence, before he can n to rouge the 
oy of _ 5 | | 


179 it is e to * abſerved, 
rover in chis account of morality, the terms 
Tight, obligation, duty, ought and | ſhould, have 
no diſtin meaning; which ſhows that the 
entire foundation of morality is not taken 
in by this author. It is true, that, towards 
the cloſe of his work, he endeavours to ex- 
plain the meaning of the term obligation. 
But as criticiſing upon authors, thoſe eſpeci- 
ally who have. laid themſelves out to ad- 
vance the cauſe of. virtue, is not the molt 
agreeable task; I would not chuſe to ſpend 


time, in ſhowing that he is unſucceſsful i in 


his attempt. The lighteſt attention to the 
ſubject will make it evident. For his whole 


| account of ws moan is no more than,“ ei- 
6c ihr 


LAW OF NATURE. -59 


& thera motive from ſelf-intereſt, ſufficient to 
« determine all thoſe whoduly conſider it to 
a certain courſe of action, which ſurely 
is not moral obligation; or © a determination, 
te without. regard to our own intereſt, to 
* approve actions, and to perform them; 
«which determination ſhall alſo make us 
« difpleaſed with ourſelves, and uneaſy upon 
having acted contrary to it; in which 
ſenſe, he ſays, there is naturally an obligati- 
on upon all men to benevolence. But this 
account falls far ſhort of the whole idea of 
obligation, and leaves no diſtinction betwixt 
it and a ſimple approbation or diſapprobati- 
on of the moral ſenſe; feelings that attend 
many actions, which by no means come 


under the notion of ob/igation or duty. 


| Ne1THER is the author of the treatiſe 
upon human nature more ſucceſsful, when 
he endeavours to reſolve the moral ſenſe in- 
to pure {ſympathy +. According to this 
author, there is no more in morality but ap- 
I proving 

+ Vol. 3. Part 3. 


358 LAW OF NATURE. 
proving or diſapproving of an action, after 
ve diſcover by reflection that it tends to the 
good or hurt of ſociety. This would be by 
far too faint a principle to controul our 
irregular appetites and paſſions, It would 
ſcarce be ſufficient to reſtrain us from en- 
croaching upon our friends and neighbours; 
and, with regard to ſtrangers, would be the 
[weakeſt of all reſtraints. We ſhall, by and 
by, ſnow that morality has a more ſolid foun- 
dation. In the mean time, it is of impor- 
tance to obſerve, that upon this author's 
ſyſtem, as well as Hutchiſon's, the noted 
terms of duty, obligation, ought and fhould 
&c. are perfectly unintelligible. 


Wr ſhall. now proceed to explain theſs 
terms, by pointing out the preciſe feelings 
which they expreſs. And, in performing this 
task, there will be diſcovered a wonderful 
and beautiful contrivance of the Author of 
-our nature, to give authority to morality, by 
putting the ſelt-affetions in a due ſubordina- 
tion to the ſocial. The moral ſenſe has, in 
| part, 


LAW OF NATURE. 59 
part, been explained above; that, by it, we 
perceive ſome actions under the modifi- 
cation of 'being fit, right, and meet to be 
done, and others under the modification 
of being unfit, unmeet and wrong. When 
this obſervation is applied to particulars, it is 
an evident fact, that we have a ſenſe of fit- 
neſs in kindly and beneficent actions. We 
approve of ourſelves and others for perform- 
ing actions of this kind. As, on the other 
hand, we diſapprove of the unſociable, peev- 
iſh and hard-hearted. But, with regard to 
one ſet of actions, there is a further modifi- 
cation of the moral ſenſe. Actions directed 
againſt others, by which they are hurt or 
prejudged in their perſons, in their fame, or 
in their goods, are the objects of a peculiar 
feeling. They are perceived and felt not 
only as unfit to be done, but as abſolutely 
wrong to be done, and what, at any rate, we 
ought not to do. What is here aſſerted, is 
a matter of fact, which can admit of no o- 
ther proof than an appeal to every man's 
own feelings. Lay prejudice afide, and give 
fair play to the emotions of the heart, I ask 

no 


60 LAW OF. NATURE, 


no other conceſſion, There is no man, how- 
ever irregular | in his life and manners, how- 
ever poiſoned by a wrong education, but 
muſt be ſenſible of this fact. And indeed the 
words which are to be found in all lan- 
guages, and which, are perfectly underſtood 


in the communication, of ſentiments, are an 
evident. demonſtration of it. Duty, obli- 
gation, ought and /hould, in their common 
meaning, would be empty. ſounds, : ki 
upon e of fuck a e 


Taz mb is 2 * — with — to pad 
tude to benefactors, and performing of en- 
gagements. We feel, theſe as our duty, in 
the ſtricteſt ſenſe, and as What we are indiſ. 
rn obliged to. We don't conſider then 
as in any meaſure under our own power. 
We have the feeling of neceſlity, and of be- 
ing bound and tied to performance, almoſt 

—.— as if we were under ſome external 


9 pro is ; fit ny to * 8 — "nk 


volent and generous actions are not the ob- 
ject 


LAW. OF NATURE. Gr 


je& of this peculiar feeling. Hence, ſuch 
actions, tho conſidered as fit and right to be 
done, are not however conſidered to be our 
duty, but as virtuous actions beyond what 
is ſtrictly our duty. Benevolence and gene- 
roſity are more beautiful, and more attrac- 
tive of love and eſteem, than juſtice... Yet, 
not being ſo neceſſary to the ſupport of ſo- 
ciety, they are left upon the general footing 
of approbatory pleaſure; while juſtice, faith, 
truth, without which ſociety could not at 
all ſubſiſt, are the objects of. the.above pecu- 
liar feeling, to take away all ſhadow of li- 
berty, and to put us under a * of per- 
formance, 

| Doaron Babe, a . and acute 
writer, has gone further than any other, to 
aſſign a juſt foundation for moral Duty. He 
conſiders * conſcience or reflection, as one 
« principle of action, which, compared with | 
& the reſt as they ſtand together in the na- 
« ture hay nan es bears upon it marks 

ad 

® Preface to the latter editions of his ſermons. | 


6 AW OF NATURE. 
« of authority over all the reſt, and claims 
«the abſolute direction of them all, to al- 
« low / or forbid their gratification.” And 
his proof of this propoſition is, © that a dif- 
4 aàpprobation of reflection is in itſelf a prin- 
*.ciple manifeſtly: ſuperior to a mere pro- 

« penſion. Had this admirable author 
handled the ſubject more profefſedly than 
he had occaſion to do in a preface, tis more 
than likely he would have brought it out in- 
to its cleareft light. But he has Fot faid 
enough to afford that light which the fub- 
ject is capable of. For i may be 'obſerv- 
ed, in the firſt place, that a diſipprobation 
of reflection is far from being the whole 
of the matter. Such diſapprobation is ap- 
plied to moroſeneſs, ſelfiſhneſs, and many 
other partial affections, which are, however, 
not conſidered in a ſtrict ſenſe as contrary to 
our duty. And it may be doubted, whe- 
ther a diſapprobation of reflection is, in eve- 
ry caſe, a principle ſuperior to a mere pro- 
penſion. We diſapprove af a man who ne- 
glects his private affairs, and gives himſelf 

Nr {244 e uno if Y; 2 up 


LAW OF NATURE. 63 
up to love, hunting, -or any other amuſe- 
ment: nay, he diſapproves of himſelf. Let 
from this we cannot fairly conclude, that he 
is guilty of any breach of duty, or that it 1s 
unlawful for him to follow his propenſion. 
We may obſerve, in the next place, what will 
be afterwards explained, that conſcience, or 
the moral ſenſe is none of our principles of 
action, but their guide and director. It is ſtill 
of greater importance to obſerve, that the 
authority of conſcience does not merely con- 
ſit in an act of reflection. It proceeds from 
a direct feeling, which we have upon preſent- 
ing the object, without the intervention of 
any ſort of reflection. And the authority 
lyes in this circumſtance, that we feel and 
perceive the action to be our duty, and what 
we are indiſpenſibly bound to perform. It 
is in this manner, that the moral ſenſe, with 
regard to ſome actions, plainly bears upon it 
the marks of authority over all our appetites 
and affections. It is the voice of God with- 
in us which commands our ſtricteſt obedi- 
7 e Au . x” 3. 3-57 dente, 


w& 4 


6 Law OR NATURE. 


ence, juſt as much as when een is de- 
clred by en - +1 5a Nn . 1% 
an is W donnie an ae 
ene ſenſe, but not the whole of it. 
A very important branch ſtill remains to be 
_ unfolded. And, indeed, the more we ſearch 
into the works of nature, the more oppor- 
tunity there is to admire the wiſdom and 
goodneſs of the Sovereign AtchiteR. In the 
matters above mentioned, performing of pro- 
-miſes, gratitude, and abſtaining from harm- 
feeling and ſenſe of duty and obligation: in 
tranſęreſſing theſe duties we have not only 
the feeling of vice and wickedneſs, but we 
-have further the ſenſe of merited puniſhment, = 
and Aread of its being infliged upon ns. 
T his dread may be but flight in the more 
venial trariſgreſſions. But, in erimes of a 
deep dye, it'riſes to a degree of anguiſh and 
deſpair. Hence that remorſe of conſcience, 
which hiſtories are full of, upon the eom- 
«miſſion of certain crimes, and which proves 


the 


FAW OF NATURE 65 
the moſt ſevere of all tortures. This dived 
of metited-puniſhment operates for the moſt 
part ſo ſtrongly upon the imagination, that 
every unuſual accident, every extraordinary 
misfortune is conſidered as à puniſhment 
purpoſely inflicted for the crime commit- 

ted. While the guilty perſon is in proſpe- 
rity, he makes a ſhift to blunt the ſtings of 
his conſcience But no ſooner does he fall 
into diſtreſs, or into any depreſſion of 
mind, than his conſcience lays faſt hold of 
him; his crime ſtares him in the face; and 
every accidental misfortune is converted in- 
to a real puniſhment. <* And they ſaid one 
eto another, we are verily guilty concern- 
ing our brother, in that we ſaw the anguiſh 
« of his ſoul when he beſought us, and we 
_ « would not hear: therefore is this diſtreſs 
© come upon us. And Reuben anſwered 
4 them, ſaying, Spake I not untoO you, ſaying, 
do not fin againſt the child? and you 
« would not hear. Therefore behold alſo 
« his blood. is required fr. 
„ $18h{ 297 07 26 1 IF One 
4. + Genelis, Chap. xl. ver. 21, 22. | 


„ LAW u NATURE. | 
+ ONE material circumſtance is here to be 


temarked, which makes a further difference 


betwixt the: primary and ſecondary virtues, 
more eſſential to ſociety than generoſity, be- 
nevolence, or anyother ſecondary virtue, they 
are like ways more univerſal. Friendſhip, ge- 
neroſity, ſoftneſs of manners, form particular 
characters, and ſerve to diſtinguiſh one man 
rom another. But We ſenſe of juſtice, and 
of the ther primary virtues, is univerſal. It 


belongs to man as fuch;/ Tho it exiſts in 


very different degrees of ſtrength, chere per- 
haps never was a human creature abſolutely 

void of it. And it makes a delightful ap- 
ven where this ſenſe is weak, as it is in ſome 
individuals; /it notwithſtanding retains its au- 

thority)as the ditector of their conduct. If 
there is any ſenſe of juſtice, or of abſtaining 
from injury, it muſt diſtinguiſh Right from 
Wrong, what we ongbt to do from what 


we ought not to do; and, by that very diſ- 
iogajihing "_ gc claims to be our 


guide 


LAW OF NATURE. 67 
guide and governor. This conſideration 
may ſerve to juſtify human laws, which make 
no diſtinction among men, as endued with a 
Waere or weaker ſenſe of, Cw 
Ans here we n * a moment, to 
indulge ſome degree of admiration. upon this 
part of the human ſyſtem, Man is evident- 
ly intended to live in ſociety ; and becauſe 
there can be no ſociety among creatures who 
prey upon one another, it was neceſſary, in 
the firſt place, to provide againſt mutual in- 
juries. Further; man is the weakeſt of all 
creatures eee and the very ſtrongeſt 
in ſociety. Therefore mutual aſſiſtance is 
the principal end of ſociety. And to this end 
it was neceſſary, that there ſhould be mutu- 
al truſt and reliance upon engagements, and 
that favours. received ſhould be thankfully 
repaid. /,, Now nothing can be more finely 
adjuſted than the human heart to anſwer 
theſe purpoſes. Tis not ſufficient, that we 
approve: of every action which is eſſential to 
che prelervation'of ſociety. Tis nat ſuffici- 

beiden Me br | Cut 


68. LAW OF NATURE. | 
ent, that we diſapprove of every action which 

tends to its diſſolution. A ſimple ſenſe of 
approbation or diſapprobation will ſcarce be 
ſufficient to give theſe actions the ſanction 
of a law. But the approbation in this caſe 
has the peculiar feeling of duty, that theſe 

actions are what we ought to perform, and 
what we are indiſpenſibly bound to perform, 
This circumſtance converts into a law what 
without it can only be conſidered as a rati- 
onal meaſure, and a prudential rule of acti 
on. Nor is any thing omitted to give it 
" lo moſt complete character of a law. The 
tranſgreſſion is attended with 2pprehenſion 
of puniſhment, nay with actual puniſhment; 
28 every misfortune which befalls the tranſ- 
greſſor is conſidered by him as a puniſh- 
ment. Nor is this the whole of the mat - 
ter. Sympathy with our fellow-ereatures is 
a principle implanted in the breaſt of every 
man: we cannot hurt another without fuf- 
| fering for it, which is an additional puniſh- 
ment. And we are ſtill further puniſhed for 
our injuſtice, - or ingratitude, by incurring = 


Fheredy 1 the averſion and hatred of mankind, 
| CHAP, 


K * 
. id - * 4 & © 
178 A | . 
p 3 4 
* ” p | 
pu » 
- 74 


4 3 0 w. 


or the: 8 ee 1 
Mo RA! BRAUN. nge 


1 is a fact which will be univerſally 1 | 


mitted, that no man thinks ſo hi ghly of 
himſelf, or 8 another, for having done a juſt, 
as for En done a generous action: yet 
every one mult be ſenſible, that juſtice is more 
eſſential than, generoſity. to the order and 
preſeryation of ſociety ; ; and why we ſhould 
place the greater merit upon the leſs eſſential 
action may appear. unaccountable. This mat- 
tex deſeryes to be examined, becauſe it. gives 
a further opening to the ſcience of morals. 


Urox a ſmall degree of reflection, it will 
appear; that the whole ſyſtem of morals is 


founded upon the fuppoſſtion of liberty of 
action . "0 ations were underſtood to be. 


Ahrens | Oo 


Doctor Butler, te ee ſa 
6 Our conſtitution is put into our own power: we are 
ke charged with it ; and therefore are * ney 
bilorder or violation of u. 


net 


1d LAW OF NATURE. 
nece ſſary, and no way under our power or 


controul, we could never cgnceive them as 
n or unſit to be done; as what we are indiſ—- 
penſibly bound to do or not to do. To have 


ſuych a feeling of human actions, upon the 
ſuppoſition of neceſſity, would be as incon- 


ſiſtent as to bave ſuch à feeling of the acti- 
ons of matter, The celebrated diſpute about 
liberty, and neceſſity is reſerved to be difcuſs- 
| in a following eſſay. But without enter- | 
upon that {ubjett at preſent, one fat 


> certain, that in acting we have a feeling 


ty and. independency. We never do 
a wro however ſtrong the motive be, 


wiel is not attended with a ſevere refleQi- | 
| Oh), that we might have done otherways, and 
3 ought to have done otherways;. Nay, du- 
ting the very action, in the very time of it, 


we haue a ſenſe or feeling of wrong, and 
that e afl, to forbear; So that the moral 
ſenſe, bath in the direct feeling, and in the 


at of og rin n and im- 


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LAW OF NATURE. „ 
Tuts, if we miſtake not, will clear the 


difficulty aboveſtated. If in the moral ſenſe 
be involved liberty of action, there muſt of 
conſequence be the higheſt ſenſe or feeling 


af morality where liberty is greateſt.” Now, 
in judging of human actions, thoſe actions, 


which are eſſential to the order and preſer- 
vation of ſociety, 


duty to be juſt and honeſt. We ate bound 


by a law in our nature, which we oughtaoc 


to tranſgreſs. No ſuch feeling of duty or 
obligation attends thoſe actions which come 
under the denomination of generofity, great · 
cConſidered as leſs free than generoſity; and, 


upon that very account, we aſctibe leſs me- 


rit to the former, than to the latter. We a- 
{cribe no merit at all to an action which is 


altogether inroluntary; and we aſcribe more 
or leſs merit, e en LY — is 


more or leſs volu ntary. 


6 
1 


. * ” 
: : 
WW 4-4 2 T 
© © x 
+ 


good meaſure neceſſary.” It is our firi& 


4 
0 . 
. 1 ” * n * * 4 „ »& 
1 1 6 hk * * 
— — DUES ab LA tat ab hoe 4. — — — — — 


Jultice, therefore, is 


—_— 
* 


by which they ate enforecd. Thoſe of the 
_ firſt rank; being eſſential to the ſubſiſtence of 


„ LAN OFNRTURR. | 
Tus there is diſcovered two ranks or 

eclaſſes of moral actions, which are diſſerent 
in their nature, and diſſerent as to the laws 


ſociety, are entirely withdrawn from our e- 
Jection and choice. They are perochved as 


ä indiſpenſibly obligatory upon us; and the 
_ #ratfgreſſion of the laws, which regulate this 


branch of our conduct, is attended with ſe- 


_ vere and never-failing puniſhment. In 2 
word, there is not a characteriſtic of poſi- 
tive lau which is not applicable, in the ſtriet- 


eſt ſenſe; to theſe laws of nature; with this 


5 material difference, that the anions of theſe 
laws are greatly more efficacious than any 


have been that invented to enforce munici- 


pal laws. Thoſe of the ſecond rank, which 


conttibute to the i improvement of ſociety, 


but are not ſtrictiy neceſſary to its ſubſiſt- 
; ence, are left to our own choice. E hey 
have not the character of moral neceſſity im- 


teſſed upon them, nor is the forbearance of 
them attended with the feeling of guilt. On 


the 


1 
| 
2 

: 


| 


LAW OF NATURE: * 
ibe other hand, the actions which belong 


to this rank are the objects of the ſtrongeſt 


feelings of moral beauty; · of the higheſt de- 
gree of approbation, both from ourſelves and 
others. Offices of undeſerved kindneſs; re- 
quital of good for evil, generous toils arid 
ſufferings for the good of our country, come 
under this claſs. Theſe are not made our 


duty. There is no motive to the perform- 


ance, which, in any proper ſenſe; can be 
called a law. But there are the ſtrongeſt 
motives that can conſiſt with perfect free- 
dom. The performance is rewatded with a 
conſciouſneſs of ſelf-merit, and with the 


praiſe and admiration of all the world, which 


are the higheſt and moſt refined 1 


that . nature is * oh 


* is n of enthoſnſm f in 
this branch of moral beauty, that it ĩs not 


wonderful ta find perſons of a free and 
generous turn. of mind. capuvated with it, 
who are leſs attentive to the virtues of the 


K ſſuſt 


34 awer NATURE 


firſt chſs,; The magnanimous, who ran 


not beat reſtraint, are more guided by: gene- 


roſity than juſtice. Let, as pain is aiſtrong 


er motive to action than pleaſure, the remorſe 
which attends a breach of ſtrict duty is; with 


the bulk of mankind, a more powerful in- 


citement to honeſty, than praiſe and ſelf· ap- 
probation are to generoſity. And there van- 


not be a more pregnant inſtance of wiſdom = 


than this part of the human conſtitution; it 

being fur more eſſential to fociety; that all 
men be juſt and m _ that =o ve 
„ © | 


Tan * of whar is e lad down is; 
that, with regard to actions of the firſt rank, 
the pain of tranſgreſſing the law is much 


| greater than the pleaſure which reſults from 
obeyidg it. The contrary is the caſe of 


actions of the ſecond tank. The pleaſure 


ariſing from the performance is much great- 


er than ihe pain of neglect. Among the 
vices N to the yu? Urtues, the 
4 AH | moſt 


LAW OF NATURE. 5 
e. appearapces of moral defor- : 


| found, A the ſecondary vir- 
; the moſt * appearance of: oral | 
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Ni the three foregoing chapters we have 
1 aaken ſome pains to inquire into the 
moral ſenſe, and to annaliſe it into its diffe- 
rent feelings. Qur preſent task muſt be to 
iaquire into thoſe principles in our natifte 
| which move us to action. Theſe are diſſe- 
rent ſubjects. For the moral ſenſe, proper- 
tyſpeaking, is not a principle which moves 
us to action. Its province is to inſtruct us, 
 whichiof our principles of action we may 
indulge, and which of them we muſt re- 
rains. : 21 It iis thenvajeo of God within * 


1 ii Ac 1 


-_- 
»* 


IN treatiſe 55 —4 Joe of anemic ls" 
ol great importance to trace out the prin- 
ciples by which we are led to action. We 
have above obſerved, that the laws of nature 
| can be to other than rules of action adapted 
1 Seng Nowe our . ſo far as 
90 2 | | con- 


A 


ba OF NATURE #7 


concerns action, is made up of appetites, 
paſſions and affections; which are the prin- 
eiples of action, and of the moral ſenſe, by 
which theſe principles are governed and di- 
rected. No action therefore is a duty, to the 
performance of which we are not prompted 
by ſome natural principle. To make ſuch 
an action our duty, would be to hay down a 
rule of conduct contraty to our nature, or 
that has no foundation in our nature. Con- 
ſcience, or the moral ſenſe, may reſtrain us 
from actions to which we are incited by a 
natural principle: but conſcience; or the mo- 
ral ſenſe, is not, in any caſe; the ſole prin- 
ciple or motive of action. Nature has aſ- 
ſigned it a different province. This is a truth 
Which has been little attended to by thoſe 

who haye given us ſyſtems of natural laws. 

No wonder, therefore, they have wandered 
ſo far from truth; Let it be kept cloſe in 
view, and it will put an end to many a con- 
troverſy about theſe laws. For example, if 
it be kid down as a primary law of nature, 

that we are ſtrictiy bound to advance the 


ed, is our guide only, not our mover. Ap» 


— 


1 VPAWOPFNATURE. 
good ef all, regarding our oui imereſt ne 
ſurther than av it makes 4 part of the genet 
tal heppineſa, we may ſafely rejeẽt ſueh a 
Alu as ineonſiſtent with our nature, un left 
it be made appear, that there is a principle 
of henevplence in man which prompts him 
to an equal (purſuit of the happineſs of all. 
To found this diſintereſted ſcheme wholly 
upon the moral ſenſe, would be a fruitleſs 
endeavour. The moral ſenſe, as above obſery- 


probation or diapprobation of theſe actions 
to hich, by ſome natural principle, we ate 
antopedentiy directed; is all that can refült 
from it. If it be laid down, on the other 
hand, that we ougkt only to rej ourfelves 
in all our actions, and that it is folly, if not 
vice, to concern ourfelves for others, ſuch : a 
law: can never be admitted, unleſs upon the 
2 _ mano gay = pris | 


ot Ab . * in the ng me 
2 man * from the brute efeadion; 


' HOOD. Brutes 


D OF NATURE] 53g 
Bruges art etitirely governed by peimòp les oſ 
action, hich, in them, obtain the name f 
Inſtincts. They blindly: follow their in- 
ſtincts, and are led by that inſtinct which i 
ſtrongeſt for the ume. It. is meet. and 
they ſhould act after this manner; bectiiſs 
it is acting according to the whole of their 
nature. But for man to allow himſelf to be 
led implicitly by inſtinct, or his principles of 
action, without check or conttoul, is nor 
acting according to the whole of his nature. 
He is endued with a moral ſenſe or cotiſci- 
enee, to check and controul his principles of 
action, and to inſtruct him which of them 
he may indulge, and which of them he 
6ught to reſtrain. This account ôf che 
brute creation is undbubtedly true in tlie 
mnain: whether ſo in every parũcular is of tis 
importance to the preſent ſubjeck, being 6h 
ly ſuggeſted by way of contraſt, ts 155 
= peculiar nature A 


Arti L account of our principles afiica 


would be an endleſs theme. 50 it is pro- 
$924 2 poſed 


$0 LAW OF NATURE 


poſed 40.confine the preſent ſhort eſſay te 
the. laws which govern ſocial life, we ſhall 
have,no occaſion to inquire into any /prins 
dples of action, but what, are directed upon 
Sthers; dropping theſe which have ſelf 24 
lone for their object. And, in this inquiry, 
we ſet out with a moſt important queſtion, 
ſeiz. In what ſeuſe we are to hold a princi- 
ple of univerſal benevolence, as belonging 
to human nature? When we conſider a ſingle 
man, abſtracted from all circumſtances and 
all connections, we are not conſcious of any 
benevolence. to him : ; we feel nothing with- 
2 us that prompts us to advance his happi- 

If one is agreeable at firſt fight, and 
_ any degree of affection, it is wing 
to looks, manner or behaviour. And for e- 
vidence of this, we are as apt to be diſguſted 
at firſt H ſight, as to be pleaſed, Man is by 
nature a.ſhy and timorous avimal. Every 
new object gives an impreſſion of feat, till, 
upon better acquaintance, it is diſcovered to. 
be harmleſs. . Thus an infant clings ta its 


nurſe 0 the 6ght of a new. face; and 
this 


od * " 
I'S 1 


LAW OF NATURE. 87 
his hatural dread is not removed but by 
long experience. If every human creature 
dld produce affection in every other at firſt 
fight, children, by natural inſtinct, would 
be fond of ſtrangers. But no ſuch inſtinct 
diſcovers itſelf. Fondneſs is confined to 
the nurſe, the parents, and thoſe who are 
moſt about the child; till, by degrees, it o⸗ 
pens to a ſenſe of larger connections. This 
argument may be illuſtrated by a very 
low, but very apt inſtance. Dogs have, by 
nature; an affection for the human ſpecies; 
and, upon this account, puppies run to 
the firſt man they ſee, ſhow marks of fond- 
neſs, and play about his feet. There is no 
ſuch general fondneſs of man to man by 
nature.” Particular circumſtances are al- 
ways tequired to produce and call it forth. 
Diſtreſs indeed never fails to beget ſym- 
pathy. The miſery of the moſt unknown 
is a painful object, and we are prompted by 
nature to afford relief. But when there is 
nothing to call forth our ſympathy; where 
there are no peculiar circumſtances to inte- 
L reſt 


Thoſe moraliſts; therefore, who require us 
10 lay aſide all partial affeRion, and to 3& 


* Which in aha 1 0 ne 


juſthy faid, that man is endued with a prin- 
- Ciple, of univerſal benevolence. Forthe hap | 


£71 LAN oF, NATYRE 
reſt . nz, or beget a conpeRtion, we. xeſt in 
ſtate of indifference, and are not copicious 
of wiſhing . either good or ill to the perſan. 


vpon a principle of general equal bone 
lence to all wen, require us to act upon a 


c "© 
* 2 12 
wt 4 4 I&1 Af i * 84 wid; L 
" 


e 1 1 »be | 


pineſs of mankind is an object agreeable to the 
mind in contemplation; and good men have 
a ſenſible pleaſure in every ſtudy: or putkug 
by which, they can promote it, It muſt in- 


deed be acknowledged, that bencyolence is 


not equally directed to all men, but gradual- 
ly decreaſes, according tothe diſtance oß the 
object, till it dwindle away to nothing. 


But here comes in a happy contrivnce of 


nature, to ſupply the want of benevolence to. 
wards Gant objects; which is, to give * 


2 4 


EAW OF NATURE 97 
er bo 1h. abſttact tern, ſuch 25 6ur religion, 
our country, our govertiment, or even man- 
kind, to taiſe benevolence ot publick ſpirit 
in the mind. The particular obj undef 
each of theſe claſſes, ' conſidered fingly'ab@ 
apart, may have batte er 50 Foes to pro. 
ales afſcction; but when comprehended uhs * 

der one general term, they become afl be 
ject that dllates ahd warms the heart: "and; 
in this way, man is enabled to eHbräce 1H 
his affection all mabkind, and theteby protii 

pted to publick ſpirited len 

H muſt have a great Hare of mdtetebee 
in his temper who can reflect up n thi 
brunch 6f hunia nature Without ſome des 
grec of emotion. There is perhaps not oh 
ſeene to be met with in the natural or Mo- 
ral world, whete fore of deſign and of con! 
ſümmate wildem ure diſplayed, than in this 
undet conſideratibn. The authors, who, itt 
pteſſed with teverence for humiti nature; 
Have efideavoured to exalt it to the higheſt 
pitch, could none of them ſtretch: their ina- 
* beyorid a priiciple ef equal and U. 
Sana niverſal 


8 BAWOFNATURR 
niverſal benevolence, And a very fine ſcheme 
it is in idea. But unluckily it is entirely of 
the Urcpian, kind, altogether ual for life 
and action. 1 has. eſcaped the conſiderati- 
on of theſe authors, that man is by nature 
of a limited capacity, and chat his affection, 
by multiplication of objects, inſtead of be 
ing inereaſed, is ſplit, into parts, and weaken» 
ed by diviſion. A principle of uniyerſal - 
dual benevolepee,/ by dividing che attention 
and affection, inſtead of promoting benevo- 
lent actions, would in reality be an obſtruc- 
tion to them. The mind would be diſtract- 
ed by dhe multiplicity of objects. that baye 
loſs where to ſet out. But the human ſyſtem 
is better adjuſted, ĩhan to admit of ſuch dif 
proportion betwixt ability and affection. The 
principal objects of man's love are his friends 
and relations. He has to ſpare, for his 
neighbours, His His affection leſſens gradnally 
in proportion to the diſtance of the object, 
till it vaniſſi altogether. But were this the 


un * human nature, wich regard to ber 
nevolence, 


LAW OF NATURE. 89 
nerolence, man would be but an abject crea- 
ture. By a very happy contrivance, objects 
: which, becauſe of their diſtance, have little 
or no influence, are made by accumulation, 
and by being gathered together, in one ge- 
neral view, to have the very ſtrongeſt effect; 
exceeding in many inſtances the moſt lively 
affection that is beſtowed upon particular 
objects. By this happy contrivance the at- 
tention, of the mind, and its affections, are 
preſerved entire, to be beſtowed upon gene- 
ral objects, inſtead of being diſſipated byan 
endlefs diviſion. Nothing more ennobles 
human nature chan this principle or ſpring of 
action; and, at the ſame time, nothing is 
more wonderful, than that a general term, 
to which a very faint, if any, idea is affixt, 
ſhould. be the foundation of a more intenſe 
affection than is beſtawed; for the moſt part, 
upon particular objects, how attractive ſoever. 
When we talk of our country, our religion, 
our government, the ideas annexed to theſe 
general terms are at beſt obſcure and indi- 
Rint, General terms are extremely uſefal 

in 


WB VLAWOR NATURE, 
it language, ſervitig, hike mathematical ſigns, 
© o0ffmtihicare 608? thoughts in a ſummaàry 
way! But the uſe of th em is not tonfined 
10 lungusge. They ſerve for a much nobler 
purpoſe, to excite us to generous and bene- 
volent actions, of the moſt exalted kind; 
not eehfined ' ro) particulars,” but graſping 
Whole ſbeieties, towns, countries, „Kingdoms, | 
nay, al mankind. By this curious mecha- 
fm; the defect of dur nature 14 amply re- 
niedied!”” Diſtant objects, otherways inſen⸗ 
Able ate rendered confpicudus. Accumula- 
dot makes them great, and greatneſs brings 
chem beur the eye. The affection is preſerv- 
ed, to be beſtowed entire, as up a ſing le 
object. And to ſay all in one word, this fy- 
ſtemlof benevolence, which is really found- 
& in human Ab Aba not the invention 
of man, is infinitely* better contrived" 60 
ane the good and happineſs of fab 
, dran any Utopian ſyſtem that ever hs 
Nor en by ve n — 


en 9 "7+ 5-6 bs 

en e ae. TRAC. 44+, 2 | 

” * 

* 
14 2 0 SF. 

* 


LAWOE NATURE. 4F 

' Upon the oppoſite ſyſtem of abſolute ſel- 
blbneſs, there is no Oceaſion to laſe a ma- 
ment I is evidently clümeticzl, becauſe 
it has no foundation, in human nature. It 
is not more certain, that there exiſts the crea- 
wre man, than that he has principles of ac- 
Aion directed entirely upon others; ſame to 

dd tbem good, and others to do them mi- 
chief. Wha can doubt of this, when friend- 
ſhip, compaſſion, gratituda an the one hand; 
and, on tha other, malice and reſentment art 
conſidered. It has indeed been obferved, 
that wa'indulge ſuch paſſions and afſections 
metcly for our own gratification, But no per- 
ſon can telifni this obſervation, whQu is in any 
meaſure acquainted with human nature. The 
ſocial aſſections are in fact the ſouree of the 
deepeſt afflictians, as well as of the moſt ae. 
alted pleaſures, as has been fully laid open 
in the foregoing effay.: In a word, we art 
evidently: formed by nature for ſociety, and 
for indulging the ſocial, as well as the ſelfiſn 
paſſions ; and therefore, to eontend, that we 
ought only to regard ourſelves, and to'be 
2 influenced 


8 LAW OF NATURE; 
laſſuenced by no principles but what are ſel- 
bh, -is ditectly to fly in the face of nature, 

and to lay down a rule eee r 
Alen wi our nature. 50 & 

2 agen sb laid 450 as widely 
erring from the nature of man, the way lyes 
open ta come at what are his erue and genu- 
ine principles of action. The firlt ching that 
natute conſults, is the preſervation of her 
creatures. Hence the loye of life is made the 
ſtrongen of all inſtings Upon the lame dun 
dation, pain is in a greater degree the object 
of averſion, than pleaſure is of deſire, Pain 
warns us of What tends to our diſſolution, 
and ſo is a ſtrong guard to ſelf-preſervation; 
Nleaſure is often fought after unwarily, and 
by means dangerous to health and life, Pain 
comes in as 2 monitor of. our danger ; and 
nature, conſulting our preſervation in the firſt 
place, and our! gratification only in the, ſe- | 
cond, -wiſely gives pain more force to draw 
us back, than it gives pleaſure to puſh us 

i > * A Tar 


: 10 N 
* 4 $4 33th 4 
* - » - 
, my P * 
4 % 


TAW NAT UAE. ® 
Tur Reond priviciple of ackioh is felf- 
Joie; er defire of dit 8Wn' kiappinefs and 
good. This is a ſtronget principle than bene- 
voleftee, or love beſtowed upon Bthers ; and 
in that reſpect is wiſtly ordered, becauſe 
evely Hah hits more power, knowledge, 
add opportunity tb promote his owt 8560 
than that of others,” THUS che food of 1h 
iduals is principally trüſted to thelt O % 
cite. Ir 1c agrecablt 10 the Hrtitedl dure of 
Cel bfeathirt as min, tHar It ſliobld be 1G, 
and bettſecfuetitiy it is Wiſely orcdetecl tliat 
every man fhöuid Habt tlie ftr Cögeft Areett- 
on for himſelf. 1 


1003435 NOþ #% 32 5 l N An * 
"Tax above rinciples have Self for their 
4 e 5 have Se for their 
object, The following regard others. Fi- 
- 8D 209 5 0 2s e N 
delity is undoubtedly a principle of action 
fot of the weakeſt fort. Performance of pro- 
miles, the ſtanding true to engagements, and 
in general the executing of truſts, come under 
this head. Therefore friendſhip belongs to 
l 12 2 } 
this principle, which ſuppoſes a mutual en- 
gagement ; and alſo love to children, who 
by nature are entruſted to our care. BY 
NM GRA- 


yo Ling OF. NAT URE; 2 
., GRaTITYDE | is a fourth principle of ac- 
Hons univerſal] y acknowledged; and Benevo- 
lence polleſſes the laſt place, diverſified by ĩts 
objects, and exerting itſelf; more vigorouſly, 
or more faintly, in proportion to the diſtance 
of particular objects, and the grandeur. of 
thoſe that are general. This EE of ac- 
tion has one remarkable modification, that 

| it operates with much greater force to relieve 
_ -thoſe in diſtreſs, than 10 promote poſitive 
good. 10 the caſe of diſtreſs, ſympathy 
comes 0 in aid, and; in chat cp 
X acquires the.name of x 


AN 101 0 

Tuxsx ſeveral principles of 2 are or- 
dered, with admirable wiſdom, to promote 
the general good i in the beſt and moſt effec- 
tual manner. We act for the genetal good, 
when, we act upon theſe principles, even 
when it is not our Immediate aim. Tho 
general good is an obje too ſublime, and 
too remote, to be the ſole impulſive motiveto 
action. It is better ordeted, that, in moſt i in- 


ſtances, individuals ſhould have a limited aim, 
which 


- 
* 
3 * * 4 


LAW OF NATURE! * 


which they can readily accompliſh; © To e- 
very man is aſſigned bis own task. And, if 
every man do his duty, the general good will 
be promoted much more fuccelsfully, than 
if it were the aim in every ſingle action. 


Tux above mentioned principles of acti- 
on belong to man as ſuch, and conſtitute 
what may be called the common nature of 
man. Many other principles exert \them- 
ſelves upon particular objects i in the inſtinc- 
tive manner, without the intervention of a- 
ny ſort of reaſoning or reflection, which al- 
ſo belong to man & ſuch, appetite for food, 
luſt, c. Other particular appetites, paſſi- 
ons and affections, ſuch as ambition, avarice, 
envy, love of novelty, of grandeur, Gc. 
conſtitute the peculiar nature of individuals; 
becauſe theſe arè diverſified among individu- 
als in very different degrees. It belongs to 
the ſcienes of Ethics, to treat of theſe parti- 
cular principles of action. All that needs 
here be obſerved of them is, that it is the aim 
of the general principle of ſell. love to obtairf 
1 to theſe particular principles. 


as CHAP. 


nn 


. gente E of the Laws of Nareax, 
. accarding t to | ſome Aulbors. 


| AVG thus at full length ic 
11 ed the nature of man, fo far as 
concerns the preſent: ſubjeR, is may not be 
diſagrecable to the reader, to have ſome. fe- 
laxation, before be enters upon the remain 
ing part of the work. We. ſhall Gl up this 
interval with a view of ſome opinions, about 
the foundation of the laws of nature, which 
| We canngt help judging to be. inaccyrate, if 
Dok erroncous. The epiſode: is, at the ſame 
time, ſirictly connected with the principal 
ſuhject; becauſe truth is always. beſt illuſtrat- 
ed by oppoſing it to error. That morality 
depends. entirely on the will of God, and 


that. his will creates the, only obligation we 
ly, under to be vigwous, is che opinion of 
ieveral writers. This opinion, in one ſenſe, 

is tte; bot far from being true in their ſenſe 
who inculcate it. And; true or' falſe, it docs 


not- 


LAW OF NATURE. 
not advance us a ſingle ſtep i in the know-. 
ledge of our duty. For what does it avail 
to, know, that morality depends upon the: 
will of God, till we once know what his 
will is? If it be ſaid, there is an original re- 
velation of it to us in our nature, this 
only mean, that our nature itſelf makes us feel. 
the diſtinction betwixt virtue and vice, which 
is the very doctrine above laid down. But, 
ſay they, God, from the purity and rectitude 
of his nature, cannot but approve. of good 
actions, and diſapprove of ſuch as are Other- 
ways. Here they don't conſider, that this. 
argument ſuppoſes a diſtinction betwixt ir- 
tue and vice antecedent to the will of God. 
For if, abſtrating from, his will, virtue and 
vice were indifferent, which is ſuppoſed in 
the propoſition, we have no Data from the 
purity of God's nature, or from any other 
principle, to conclude, that vittue is more 
the object of his choice than vice. But, fur- 
ther, the very ſuppoſition of the purity and 
rectitude of the nature of the Divine Being 
preſuppoſes a taſte, feeling, or knowledge in 


94 MAW Or NATURE: 


us of an "eſſential: difference betuixt virtue 
aud vice. Therefote it can never be aid; 
im any proper ſenſe, that our only. obli= 
_ gation to virtue is the will of God, ſeeing i ic 
is true, that, abſtraQting altogether from his 
will, there is an obligation to virtue found- 
tin hat (rams of our nature. 


: + 105 3 


Pr In. one fake: indeed, it ĩs true, e that mora- 
lay depends upon the will of God, who 
made. us ſuch as we are, with a moral ſenſe 
to: diſtinguiſh virtue from vice. But this i is 
ſaying no more but that it is God's will, or 
2 that i it is agrecable to him we ſhould be vit- 


_ , tnons: It is another thing to maintain, that 


man is indifferent to virtue and vice, and that 
he is under no obligation to the one more 
than to the other, unleſs ſo far as he is de- 
termined by tbe, arbitrary will of a ſuperi- 
or, of ſovereign. That a being may be ſo 
framed 25 to anſwer this deſcription, may be 
yielded. But, taking man as he is, endued 
wich a moral ſenſe, tis a direct contradicti- 
on to hold, that be is under no obligation to 

; virtue, 


LAWOFNRTURE. 95 
virtue, other chan the mere will of God In 
this ſenſe, morality no more depends upon 
the will of pee on 1 50 our on will. 
1 h gigs Air: 
alt We Wal next ee doctrine, 
Which may be ſet in oppoſition to the fore. 
going, and that is Dr. Clarke's demonſtra- 
tion of the unalterable obligation of moral 
duty. His propoſition is, That, from the 
eternal and neceſſary differences of things, 
ehnthere naturally and neceſſarily ariſe cert 
* tain moral obligations, which are of them- 
i ſelves intumbent on all rational creatures, 
5 antecedent to all poſitive inſtitution, and 
to all expectation of reward or puniſh: 
* ment. And this propoſition he demon- 
. ſtrates in the following manner: © That 
there is a fitneſs of certain circumſtances 
_ 4 to certain perſons, and an anfitneſs of o- 
<,'thers, antecedent to poſitive laws; and that, 
<, from the different relations of different 
«things, there ariſes a fitneſs and unfitneſs 
of certain behaviour of ſome perſons. For 
A inſtance, God is ſuperior to man; and 


N 6 « there- 


6 LAW DF NATURE, 


« 24 
RR: 0 4088 | 1 1 


1. 00 10 Hin af 

17 this 1 as it is called, be 
the. only or principal foundatian of morals, 
unlucky it is, that a do&tine of ſuch impbr- 
tarice ſhould have fo long been hid from 
the publick. The atticnth, however, catrł- 
ed the obligation of morals perhapb as fur 
as this eminent divine does. And now thut 
the important diſcovery is made, it is ri6t 
likely to do great ſervice; conſidering how 
lttle the bulk of mankind are able to enter 
| into abſtruſe reaſoning, ind how little influ. 

ence ſuch feaſoning generally has after it is ; 


Bor abſtruſeneſs is not the only impet- 
fection of this celebrated atgument. It. ap- 
pears to me altogether inconcluſive. Laying 
aſide perception and feeling, upon which the 
doctor founds no part of his demonſtration, 
I ſhould be utterly at a lofs, from any given 
relation betwixt perſons, to draw. a conelws 


* — 


W 


LAW Sr bit. 
gon ef the fiielFor infitne oF a "certain 
courſe” of behaviour. God is our ſu- 
* perlor, and therefore it is fit we ſhould 
—— him.“ Hut here I put the que 
Rion, upon whatptinciple of reaſon does this 
edhehiſion” reſt? Where is the connedting 
propoſition by means of which the infe- 
renee is drawn? Here the doctor muſt be 
witetly at à loſs.” For the truth of the mat- 
ter is, that the terms fitneſs and 'unfitneſs, 
In their preſent ſignification, depend entire- 
If upon! the moral ſenſe. Fitne and unf 
ne with regard to a certain end or purpoſe, 
are qualities of netlons which r may be gather- 
ed from experience · But fr or unfit- 
neſs of actions, as importing right or wrong, 
as denoting what we ought to do, or abſtain 
from; have truly no meaning, Aude upon 
ſoppofition of 4 moral ſenſe, which this 
learned divine never once dreams of raking 
into his Argument. The doftor's error there- 
re is a common one, that he endeavours 
t ſubſtitute reaſon in place of feeling. The 
neſs of worſhipping our Creatot was obvi- 
— __ ous 


* 


23 NF NATURE 
ang to him, 2s it ĩs to every man, becaſe it 
_ is founded in qur very Nature. It is equal- 
 1y obvious with. the preference of hqnelty to 
diſhoneſty. His only miſtake is, that, over- 
looking the lam written . in his own. heart, 
he vainly imagines that his metaphyſical ar- 
_ gument is juſt, becauſe the conſequence he 
. draws from it happens to be true. And to ſa- 
tisfy even his moſt devoted diſciples, that this 
is the caſe, let us only ſuppoſe, that man, 
by nature, had no approbatory or diſappro- 
_batory, feeling of actions, it could never be 
eyinced, by, any abſtract argument whatever, 
Ser de warkhip of the Deity is bis duty, or, 
in the moral ſenſe of fitneſs, that it is more 
Kinn be honeſt than to dad 
Ne wh orig eee eee 
* Apr upon this head, we will . — 
| kherty 10 add, becauſe it is of importance to 
the, ſubje& in general, that, ſuppoſing dur 
duty could be made plain to us, by an ab- 


ſtract chain of reaſoning, yet we have good 
ground to conclude, trom analogy, that the 


Author of nature has llt our 2 


10.0 


LAW OF NATURE 55 


be directed by ſo weak 2 principles reaſon: 
anda weak principle it muſt be to the bulk 
of mankind, who have little capatity tb en 
ter into abſtract reaſoning; whatever effect it 
may have upon the learned and contempla- 
tive. Nature has dealt more kindly by us. 
We are compelled by ſtrong and evident 
feelings, to perform all the different dutics 
of life. Self-preſervation 'is not left to the 
conduct of reaſon, but is guarded by the 
ſtrongeſt inſtinct, which oor us carefully, 
or rather mechanically, avoid every appears 
ance of danger. The propagation of the 
ſpecies is enforced by the moſt importunate 
of all appetites, and the care of our off. 
| ſpring'by a lively and conſtant affection. Is 
nature fo deficient; as to leave the duty we 
coe our neighbour, which ſtands in the 
fitſt rank of duties, to be directed by cool 
reaſoning? This is not according to the an- 
logy of nature, nor is it fact: witneſs com- 
paſſion, friendſhip, benevolence, and all the 
tube of the ſocial affections. Neither is 
eommon juſtice left upon this footing, the 
" moſt 


1096 DAN DF/NAT URE:; | 
moſt uſeful, tho' not the moſt exakedvirwe. 
The «ranſgraſhon of it is attended wich a ſe- 
vere feeling of diſapprobation, and alſo en- 
foreed by other — 1 more 1 
and authoritative. 
451! I arc ge Hob = Ry 

A es anker * whom 1 (hall juſt 
mention by the way, gives a whimſical ſyſtem 
of morals; He endeavours to reduce all 
crimes to that of telling a lie; and, becauſe 
telling a lie is immoral, he concludes, that 
the ſeveral crimes he mentions are immoral. 
Robbery, for example, is acting or telling a 
lie; becauſe it is in effect ſaying, that the 
goods I ſeiſe are mine. Adultery is ading 
or telling a lie, becauſo it is in effedt main- 
taining thar my neighbour's wife is not his, 
but mine. But not to inſiſt upon the folly 
of giving all erimes the ſame character, and 
confounding their nature, it appears evident, 
that, in this argument, the very thing is taken 

for granted which is to be proved. For why 
s it a virtual lie to rob one of his goods? fs 

Rte aft 8419 e n r 95: 9t ue 1 

* Woolaſton. 


LAW OF NATURE. tor 
it not by impoſing upon mankind, who muſt 
preſume thoſe goods to be mine, which 1 
take as my o /n But does not this evident- 
ly preſuppoſe a difference betwixt eum and 
tuum, and that T ought not to make free wich 
another's property without his conſent? For 

what other reaſon are the goods preſumed to 
be mine, but that it is unlawful to meddle with 
what belongs to another? The ſame obſerva- 
tion will apply to all his other tranſmutations; 
for, in acting or telling the lie, it is conſtantly 
taken for granted, that the action is wrong in 
itſelf, And this very wrong is the circum- 
ſtance which is ſuppoſed, in the reaſoning, to 
impoſe upon the ſpectators. Tha error there- 
fore of this author is of the ſame nature with 
Dr. Clark's, in his ſyſtem above examined. 
It is an evident petitio principii: the very 
thing is taken for granted which is under- 
taken to be proved. With regard to the 
preſent ſubject, we have no occaſion fur- 
ther to obſerve of this curious author, that 
when he draws ſo ſtrong conſequences from 
telling a lie, it was to be expected he ſh 
- + - have 


102 LAW OF NATURE. 

have ſet in the cleareſt light the immorality of 
that action. ut this he docs not ſo much 
as attempt, leaving it upon the conviction 
of one's own mind. This indeed he might 


ſaſely do; but not more ſafely than to leave 
upon the ſame conviction all the other 
erimes he treats of. 9 DEZRE OTIS inge 


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"adn ut Wil mot ni een t. 


Js TICE is chat vial: virtue which 
| ene property, and gives authority to 
covenants. And as it is made out above, that 
juſtice, being eſſentially neceſſary to the main- 
tenance of ſociety, is one of thoſe primary 
virtues which are enforced by the ſtrongeſt 
natural laws, it would be unneceſſary to ſay 
more upon the ſubject, were it not for 2 
doctrine eſpouſed by the author of a treatiſe 
upon human nature, that juſtice, ſo far from 
being one of the primary virtues, is not e- 
ven a natural virtue, but eſtabliſhed in ſoci- 
ety by a ſort of tacit convention, founded 
upon a notion of public intereſt. The figure 
which this author deſervedly makes in the 
learned world, is too conſiderable, to admit of 
his being paſt over in ſilence. And as it is of 
great importance to creatures who live in ſo- 
ciety, to have juſtice eſtabliſhed upon its moſt 
ſolid foundation, a chapter expreſsly upon 
this 


| viohtion of property is utended wirh Fe- 


are adapted one 0 rr perv“ and to een 


104% LAW OF N ATURE. 
this Way . 57 not be fel 
to the reader. 2 — Kid Bib 


by 
p : . * 4 0 
erer! 1 —— Ws 8 


Our ** „ Gochime fo far * con- 


cerns that branch of juſtice by which ptoper- 
ty is ſecured, comes to this; that, iti a ſtate of 


nature; there can be no ſuch thing as pro- 


perty; and rhat the idea of property ariſes, 


after juſtice is eſtabliſhed by convention, 


whereby every one is ſecuted in His poſſeM- 


ons. In oppoſition to this ſingular doctrine, 
there is no difficalty to make out, that we 
have an idea of property, antecedent to ariy 
lort of agreement or convention that proper- 


ty is founded on a natural principle; and that 


moꝛrſe,/ and a ſenſe of breach of duty. Th 
following out this ſubject, it will appear 
bow:admirably the ſprings of human nature 


tireumſtanices; "1 ET5: 'P 10 Ve TW ft THT 


Won bn ve uw apiy co 4 2 . 


12 is by nature eee 
g Wen To — 


2 nal 
* 


LAW OE NATURE. aog 
nal. conſtitution his external circumſtances 
are finely adapted. The ſurface of this globe 
does ſcarce yield ſpontaneouſly food for the 
greateſt lavagesz but, by labour and induf- 
try, it is made to furniſh not only the con- 
veniencies, but even the luxuries of life. In 
this ſituation, it is wiſely ordered, that man 
ſhould labour for himſelf and his family, by 
providing a ſtock of necellaries for them, be- 
fore he think of ſerving others. The great 
principle of ſelf - preſervation directs him to 
this courſe. Now this very, diſpoſition. of 
providing againſt want, which is common to 
man with many other creatures, involves 
the, idea of property. The ground I culti- 
vate, and the houſe I build, muſt be conſider- 
ed as mine, otherways I labour to no pur- 
poſe. There is a peculiar connection be- 
twixt, a man and the fruits of his induſtry 
felt by every. one; which is the very thing we 
call property. Were all the conveniencies of 
life, like air and water, provided to our 
hand without labour, or were we diſpoſed 
d labour for ths publck, without any "mW 


1 
En 


10 DAW OF NATURE. 
iſh affetions, there would be no ane of 
property, at leaſt ſuch a ſenſe, would be ſu- 
perfluous and unneceſſary. But when ſelf- 
preſervation, the moſt eminent of our prin- 
eiples of action, directs every individual to 
tabour-for himſelf in the firſt place; man, 
without a ſenſe or feeling of property, would 
be an abſurd being. Every man therefore 
muſt have a notion of property, with regard 
to the things acquired by his own labour, 
for this is the very meaning of working for 
one's — e fo far, is denne con- 
of! Pepe eſſentially the Ages whether 
it relate to myſelf, or to another. There is 
no difference, but what is felt in ſurveying 
the goods of any two indifferent perſons. 
And, were it conſiſtent for a man to have the 
Idea of his on property, without having a 
notion of property in another; ſuch a man 
would be a very imperfect being, and alto- 
er unqualified for ſociety. IF it could be 
ade out; that ſuch is the conſtitution of 


inland in general, T ſhould be much diſ- 
* | poſed 


LAW OF NATURE. 167 
poſed to believe that we were made by a for- 
tuitous coneburſe of atoms. But the con- 
ſeitution of ma js mote wiſely framed; arid 
mote happily achuſted to his external cit- 
cumſtances. Not only man, but all provi- 
dent crettutes who hate the hording quali- 
ty, are endüect with the Tenſe ot feeling of 
property; which effectually ſecures each indi- 
vidual, in the enjoyment of the fruits of its 
own labour. Arid" ageordingly we find, in 
peruſing the Hiſtory f mankind; as far back 
as we have any traces of it, that there ne- 
ver has been, amebg any psople or Hibe, fuch 
a thing as the pöſſeſfen bf goods in com- 
mon. For, even before agriculture was in- 
vented; when men lived upon the natural 
fruits of the earth; tho" the plenty of paſ- 
ture made ſeparate poffeſſions unneceſſary, 
yet individuals had their own cattle; and en- 
t the an een eattle mind 


anew it vaſt nb bo Ceerlebhet that this 
ſenſe of property is fortified by another prin- 
ciple? Every man bas a pecullar affection 
wt.» Pt ACE for 


103 LAW OFE NATURE. 
for what he poſſeſſes, excluſive of others, and 
for w hat he calls his oi. He applies his 
Skill and induſtry with great alacrity to im- 


can be no other deciſive evidenoe, than to ap- 
peal to every man s own feelings. At the ſame 
ane n ee 5 e this 


prove his own ſubject: his affecian to it 
grows with the time of his poſſeſſion; and 


he puts a much greater value upon it, than 


upon any ſubject of the ſame kind oy be 
Tongs to here tens gie, Woge 
03 inf uch Hrn lea 


Hens then is n eſtabliſhed by the 


g of our natute, antecedent to all 
human conventions. We are led by na- 
ture to conſider goods agquired by our induſ- 
try and labour as belonging to us, and as 
our o .nu. Wie have the ſenſe or feeling of 
property, and conceive theſe goods to be our 
.-own; juſt as much as we conceive our hands, 
our feet, and our other members to be our 
on; and we have a ſenſe or feeling equal- 


ly:clear-of the property of others. What is 


here aſſerted is a matter of fact, of which there 


fact 


LAW OF NATURE. 09 
fact, than that yours and mine are terms fa. 


miliar with the greateſt ſavages, and even 
with children. They muſt have feelings 
which correſpond to theſe terms; other ways 


en would not be un to chem . 


1 


| '4 | 
4 this/ is not ** ah is volved inthe 
| Gal or feeling of property, We not only 
ſuffer pain in having our goods taken. from 
us by force; for that would happen were 
joey deſtroyed or loſt: by accident. We have 
the feeling of yyrong andrinjuſtice.. The per- 
dan ho robs. us has the ſame feeling, and 
every mortal who bebolds the —— 
Weg as Pon contrary to rights 
UT 2H in: 2nd x IE 
* it ĩs not ſufſicient to have 3 
ed the foundation of our author's dodrine. 
We will proceed to make ſome, obſervatieons 
_ to others 1 men 


3! 


he pot firſt 2 to rea- 
n not altogether conſiſtently in making out 
his ſyſtem: » He faunds juſtice on a general 
Ag} ſenſe 


rr LAW OP NATUR E. 


ſenſe of common) intereſt . And yet, at nb 
greater diſtance than a feẽ pages, hie en dea- 
vouis to make but , and does it ſuceeſsfuſ. 
ly, mat puble ĩntereſt is a motive too femote 
andi tod ſubhime to affect the generality of 
mankind, and to operate, with any force, in 
actions ſo contrary to private intereſt as are 
frequently — * ne * 
_ £5 00 g TPO Uo, 

N r Don 2— 4 01 010 YU 295 
edle dete fade abſtracdirig from the 
ſenſe of property; it does not appert, that a 
ſenſe of common intereſt would neceſſatily 
„vad te ſuch 4 regulation, a8 that every mah 
ſhould have the tmdiſturbed enjoyment of 
what he has acquired by his induſtry or 
£658 fortune. Suppofinng 16 ſenſe of pro- 
Petty, 1 do not ſee it inconſiſtent with ſocl- 
*&ty}"t6 have à Lacedemomian conſtitution, 
thitt every man may lawfully take what by 
addreſs he can make himſclf maſter of, with- 
out force or violence. The depriving us of 
that to which dee kate ao affectlon, wol 

rg 40 e 29000! 41454815346 ite 


l., 3. P. 59. f Vol. 3. p. 43. 


* 


LAV OF NATURE. 111 
be doing little more than drinking in out 
brook, or breathing in our air. At any rate, 
ſuch a. refined regulation would never be 
conſidered of importance enough, to be e- 
ſtabliſhed, upon the very commencement of 
ſociety. It muſt come late, if at all, and be 
the efftct of long experience, and great re- 
finement in the art of living. It is very true, 
that, abſtaining from the goods of others is 
a regulation, without which ſociety cannot 
well ſubſiſt. But the neceſſity of this regu- 
lation ariſes from the ſenſe of property, 
without which a man would ſuffer little pain 
in lofing his goods, and would have no feel- 
ing of wrong or injuſtice. There does not 
appear any way to evade the force of the a- 
bove reaſoning, other than peremptorily to 
deny the reality of the ſehſe of property. 
Others may, but our author, I think, can- 
not with a good grace do it. An appeal may 
be ſafely made to his own authority. For 
is it not evidently this ſenſe, which has ſug- 
geſted to him the neceſliry, in the inſtitution 
or _ fociety, to ſecure individuals in their 


pol- . 


| 
| 
| 


112 
poſſeſſions? He cannot but be ſenſible, that, 
abſtracting from the affection for property. 
the neceſſity would be juſt nothing at all. 
But our feelings operate ſilently and imper- 


ceptibly ; and there is nothing more com- 
mon than to ſtrain for far-fetched arguments 


in ſup port of concluſions which are, ſug- 
3 geſted by the lf and moſt obvious ior 


* N , - f Fa 
CP . * : * 8 0 l % . A a 14 +4 


LAW OF NATURE. 


Arn IR kD obſervation is, that fore 0 our au- 
thor reſolves all virtue into ſympathy, why 
Tthould he with-hold the ſame principle from 
| being, the foundation of juſtice? why ſhould 
not ſympathy give us a painful ſenſation, in 
depriving « our neighbour of the goods! he has 
acquired by induſtry, as well as in depriv- 
| ing him of his | lite or limb? For it is a fact 
\ too, evident to be denied, that many men 
are more uneaſy at the loks of their goods, 
han at the! loſs of a member. a | 


Arp, in in the laſt place, were juſtice only 
founded on a general ſenſe of common in- 
weſt 


« 4 2 


LAW OF NATURE. ris 
kereſt, t bchoved to be the weakeſt feeling 
In Hüman nature, eſpecially where injuſtice 
committed againſt'a ſtranger is, with whom 
we are not cofinected by any degree of bene- 
„ dee Now this is contrary to all experi- 

The ſenſe of injuſtice is one of the 
mae that belongs to humanity, and is 
attended with! many peculiar modifications, 
viz. a feeling of acting contrary to the ſtrlet- 
eſt obligations of duty, and a feeling of me- 
rited puniſhment for the wrong committed. 
Had our author but once teflected upon 
telt peciiliar feelings; he never could have 
been ſatisfied with the flight foundation he 
giyes to Juſtice ; for theſe feelings are alto- 
N unaccountable upon bis ſyſtem. [7 


Tur branch of juſtice which regards 


A101 fil 


iſes and c covenants, appears alſo to have 
Two ſolid foundation i in human nature; 3 
notwithſtanding of what is laid down by our 
author in two diſtin propoſitions r, That 
* a a plone Would not be intelligible, | before 
10. 0 ga! * * 21 


11 Page 102. : , 


4 


274 LAW OF NATURE. 

| « human conventions had eſtabliſhed it; 
« and. that even, if it were intelligible, it 

« would not be attended with any moral 


i « « obligation.” As man is framed for ſocie- 


ty. mutual. truſt, and confidence, without 
which there can be no ſociety, enter into 
the character of the human ſpecies. Cor- 
Wl, to theſe, are the principles of ve- 
: racity and fidelity. And, in this particular, 


among many, it is admirable. to. obſerve 


- = 
4 . 


how accurately t theſe principles are adapted 
t0 each other, Veracity. and fidelity would 
e of no ſignificaney, were men not dilpoſ⸗ 

Pr to have faith, and to rely upon what is 
faid 1 to them, whether i in the way of evi- 
dence or engagement. F aith and truſt, on 
the other hand, would be very hurtful prin- 
ciples, Were mankind yoid of veracity and 
fidelity: for, upon chat ſuppoſition, the 
world' would be over-run with fraud and 
deceit,  Suppoling a a ſociety, once. eſtabliſh- 
ed, the ſecurity, of property, as well as of 
life, 1s "indeed eſfentially neceſlary to, itz 
conũ tinuance and — 9 4 For, were 

men 


D 


LAW OF NATURE. 115 
men in danger from their fellows, the con- 
dition of man behored to be the ſame with 
that of ſavage animals, who, upon that 1 very 3 
account, ſhun all manner of commerce. But 
fidelity and veracity are ſtill more eſſential : 
to ſociety, becauſe, without theſe principles; 
there cannot be ſuch a thing as ſociety at 
all: it could never have à beginning. Tis 
juſtly obſerved by our author, that man, in 
a ſolitary ſtate; is the moſt helpleſs of be- 
ings; and that by ſociety alone he is en- 
abled to ſupply his defects, and to acquire 
a ſuperiority over his fellow creatures; that 
by conjunction of forces, our power is aug- 
mented; by partition of employments, we 
work to better purpoſe; and, by mutual ſuc- 
cour, we acquire ſecurity. But, without mu- 
tual fidelity and truſt, we could enjoy none 
of theſe advantages: without them, we 

could not have any comfortable intercourſe 
| with one another: ſo that they are neceſſa- 
ry even to the conſtitution of ſociety. Hence 
it is, that treachery i is the vileſt of crimes, 
and what mankind have ever held in the 
* utmoſt 


116 LAW OF NATURE: 
utmoſt abborrence: It is worſe than myr- 
der, becauſe it forms a character, and is di- 
rected againſt all mankind; whereas, murder 
is only a tranſitory act, directed againſt a 
| ſingle perſon. Infidelity is of the ſame ſpe- 
cles with treachery. The efſence of both 
_ crimes is the ſame, to wit, breach of truſt, 
Treachery has only this aggravating circum: 
ſtance, that it turns the confidence repoſed 
in me, againſt the friend who truſts me. 
Now breach of promiſc᷑ is a ſpecies of infi- 
delity; and therefore our author has but a 
ſingle choice. He muſt either maintain, 
that treachery is no erime, or that breach of 
promiſe is a erime. And, in fact, that it is 
ſelf. The performance of a deliberate pro- 
miſe has, in all ages, been conſidered as a 
duty. We have that ſenſe and feeling of a 
promiſe, as what we are bound to perform 
by a ſtrict obligation; and the breach of pro- 
miſe is attended with the ſame natural ſtings, 
which attend other crimes, /cjz. remorſe, 
3 merited puniſhment. 


Fr 


LAW OF NATURE my 

Ir is evident from the above, that it is 
but an imperfect conception of a promiſe to 
conſider. it as our author does *, with rela-: 
tion only to the perſon who makes the pre- 
miſe. In this internal act two perſons are 
concerned; the perſon who makes the pro- 
miſe, and the perſon to whom the promiſe 
is made. Were there by nature no truſt 
nor reliance upon promiſes, breach of pro- 
miſe would be a matter of indifferency. 
Therefore the eſſence of a promiſe conſiſts 
in keeping faith. The reliance upon us, 
produced by our own act, conſtitutes the 
obligation. We feel ourſelyes bound to per- 
form: we conſider it as our duty. And 
when we violate our engagement, we have'a 
ſenſe of moral turpitude in diſappointing 
the perſon who relied upon our fait. 


Wx ſhall cloſe this ſubject, concerning the 
foundation of juſtice, with a general reflec- 
tion. Running over every branch of our du- 
ty, 'what concerns ee as wa as our 

neigh- 


0 vel. 3 p- 102. 


TY UAW OF NATURE. 


neighbours, we find; that nature has been 
more provident, than to truſt us entirely to 
the guidance of cool reaſon. It is obſerved 
above, that our duty is enforced by inſtinct 
and appetite, as well as it is directed by rea- 
ſon. Now, if man be a ſocial being, and 
Juſtice eſſential to ſociety, it is not according 
to the "analogy of nature, that we ſhould 
be left to inveſtigate this branch of our du- 
ty by a chain of reaſoning, eſpecially where 
the reaſoning turns upon ſo remote an ob- 
ject as that of publick good. May we not 
apply to juſtice, what is ſo beautifully rea- 
ſoned concerning ſociety, in a dialogue upon 
- happineſs *: If ſociety be thus agreeable 
. to our nature, is there nothing within us 
6 to excite and lead us to it? no impulſe; 
* no preparation of faculties? It would be 
« ſtrange if there ſhould not.” If we are 
fitted by our nature for ſociety ; if pity, be- 
nevolence, friendſhip, love, the general dif- 
like of folitude, and defire of company, are 
_ dons all of them conducive to 
ſociety, 
1 7. 155. 1 


LAW. OF NATURE. 4a9 
ſociety, it would be ſtrange if there ſhould 
be no natural affections, no preparation of 
faculties, to direct us to do juſtice, which is 
fo eſſential to ſociety. But nature has nor 
failed us here, more than in the other parts 
of ur conſtitution. We have a feeling of 
property; we have a feeling of obligation to 
perform our engagements; and we have 2 
feeling of wrong in encroaching upon pro- 


perty, and in being untrue to our engage 
ments. Society could not ſubſiſt. without 


theſe aſſections, more chan it could ſubſiſt 
without the ſocial aſſections properly ſo call- 
ed. We haye reaſon, a priori, to conclude 
equally; in fayours of. both, and we find, up- 
on Kg, our concluſion to be juſt. 


"Y 
4 


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49 1 255 0 H A P. vin. 
G PRIMARY Laws FR 


7 FE are now come to the thing princi- 
VVpalhy intended in this effiy, which 
is to pive 4 general view of the primary | laws 
of naturè. Aion ought to be the end and 
amof al our inquiries; Without which, moral, 
a5 well as metaphyfical, reaſoning are but 
empty ſpeculation.” And, as life and man- 
ners are more peculiarly the object of the 
motal ſcience, i it was to be expected, that the 
weight and importance of the ſuhject, ſhould 
have brought 3 authors to one way of think- 
ing. But it is lamentable to find the world 
divided about theſe primary laws, almoſt as 
much as they, commonly are about the 
moſt airy and abſtract points. Some au- 
thors acknowledge no principle in man, but 
whati is altogether ſelfiſh ; and it is curious to 
obſerve how they wreſt and torture every ſo- 
cial principle, to give it the appearance of ſel- 
| Eſhneſs. Others exalt human nature much 
above 


LAW OF NATURE. 21 


bove its juſt ſtandard, give no quarter to ſel- 
fiſhne(s, but conſider man as bound to di- 
rect every action to the good of the whole, 
and not to prefet his own intereſt to that of 
others. I he celebrated lord Shaftesbury goes 
fo far as not to admit of any thing like par- 
tial benevolence, ; holding, that if it is not 
entire, and directed to the whole ſpecies, it 
is not benevolence : at all. It is not difficult 
to aſſign a cauſe for ſuch difference i in opini- 
on; tho' it may appear ſtrange, that authors 
ſhould differ ſo widely upon a ſubject, which 
every man ought to be acquainted with, be- 
uſe the ſubject f is his own conſtitution. 
There is nothing more common in philoſo- 
phy, "as well as in Ife and action, than to 
build caſtles in the air. Unpatient of the 
ſlow and cold meth&$d of indu ion, we fly 
to ſyſtems, which every writer takes the liber- 
ty of framing, according to his own taſte and 
fancy. Fond of the fabric which he him- 
ſelf has erected, tis far from his thoughts 
to ſubjeR i it to examination, by trying whe- 


Q | ther 


4a LAW OF NATURE. 
cher it will ſtand the teſt of ſtubborn facts. 


Men of narrow minds and contracted prin- 


2 naturally fall in with the ſelfiſh (yl: 

The fyſtem of univerſal benevolence 
| poof} courts and warm-hearted. In 
the midſt of various and oppolite opinions, 


the purpoſe of this eſſay is to ſearch for 


truth by the patient method of induction; 
and, after what is above laid down, it ic will 
not de __ to find i it. 


Ker us PE al that the pefuch- 
ples of action furniſh motives to action, and 
that the moral ſenſe is given as an inſtruc- 
dor to. regulate our actions, to enforce one 
motive, to reſtrain another, and io prefer 
one to another, when they are in competiti- 
on. Hence the laws of nature may be de- 
fined to be rules oft our condui and behaviour, 
founded on natural pri inciples, approved of by 
the moral ſenſe, and enforced by natural Ten 
In and AO: 


s } 
, j Th » 6d © . , 4 
, « fe» 4 og & \ 1114904 93 | ; IN 
” my 0 . 
* 


P , » . N 


LAW OF NATURE. +24 

I fearching for theſe laws, it muſt be 
obyious, that we may ſafely indulge every 
principle of action, where che action is not 
diſapproved of by the moral ſenſe, and that 
' we ought to perform every action which 
the moral ſenſe informs us to be our duty. 
From this ſhort propoſition, may be readily 
deduced all the laws of nature which go- 
vern human actions. Tho, in the preſent 
eſſay, the duty which a man os to himſelf, 
where others are W is not com- 
—ů— | 


abate onhetal painciples 
of action, ſelf- preſervation being the leading 
principle, it is hard to ſay, that any means, 
ſtrictly ſpeaking, ate unlawful, to attain that 
end. If two men in a ſhip-wreck get hold, at 
the lame. inſtant of a plank, which is not bul- 
ky enough to ſupport both, it is lawful.for 
the one to thruſt off the other, in order to 
fave his own life. This action is not con- 


demned by the moral ſenſe: It is not at- 


tended wich any feeling of wrong, | In like 
#1 manner 


124 LAW OFE NATURE. 
manner, it is lawful: for a man to ſeize upon 
food. wherever he can find; it, een 
ſelf from pager ere lo gh: 
34 f Dee eat 

Uron the fame nh _—_ for 
2 man to ſave a member of his own body, at 
the expence of another's member, if both 
cannot be faved. A man will ſcarce have a- 
ny conſciouſneſs of wrong in ſodoing. But 
it will hardly be allowed. in morality; to ſave 
a member at the expence of another's life, 
This matter, however, is not to be redueed 
to any accurate rule. The determination of 
queſtions of this kind, muſt neceſfarily vary 
according to the circumſtances of the per. 
ſons concerned, and according wre * 
| i and ee actor. b 


1 E. 5 eiern 4 


6.444 wy PO 


x, Toon ſecond genera] ert in point of 
rank is ſelfalove, which, being a more pow- 
erful principle than benevolence, it naturally 
aſſumes the preference. And we meet with 
no obſtruẽtion from the-moral ſenſe, when 
* are, own intereſt to that of others. 
ry The 


4 


SAW NATURE. 125 

The ſame will held with regard to our Par- 

neular appelites, paſſions and affections. But 
here comes a remarkable limitation, that we 
are not to indulge ſelf. love at the expence of 
harmifig others, whether in their perſons, 

goods, or reputation. The moral ſenſe, ii 

every caſe, ſelf- preſervation excepted, lays 
us under an abſolute reſtraint with regard to 
theſe particulars. This reſtraint is felt as our 
indiſpenſible duty, and the tranſgreſſion of 
this duty never fails to be attended with rel 

morſe, and a dread of merited puniſhment. 

And this is wiſely ordered. Society could 
not be preſerved without ſuch à law; and & 
ven, abſtracting from ſociety, the law is eſ- 
ſetitially;necefſary, to attain the ends propoſ- 

ed by the two great principles of action, ſelf- 
preſervation and ſelf-· love. No man could 
be ſecure” of his life a moment, far leſs of 
his happineſs, if men, worſe than a 
ky N 2 one e Men 


Tut third n which is mat of fi- 
dey, is alſo in the ſtricteſt ſenſe a law of. 


nature. 


LAV of NATUR 


nature Ma are bound to take care of aur 
children, to perform our promiſes, and 49 
ſtand nue to our engage ments. It need only 
be obſerved upon this head, that the obli- 
gatiqa is indiſpenſibla, and yiolda to no:othar 
principle or law of ee eee 
eee e een Aung U hmiows 


ELLE” Th TT 8 141 899 e: 


e eee epi gin 
Vas to be ranked among. che laws: ef bar 
mre. We feel it in the ſtricteſt ſenſe as our 
duty. The wanſgrefſion of this law is net 
only attended with-ſel{rdiſapprobation, but 
a nts ART in 
F "77 26 1 EI AE 104 
ſh 3 ho lai principle, er 
be indulged at plgafure, and without reſtraint, 
unleſs where it comes in competition with a 
ſtrict obligation. If it, is directed to advance 
the happineſs of others; it is nat to be rank 
ed, ſtrictly ſpeaking, among our duties. Be- 
cauſe, tho actions of this kind are highly re- 
warded by ſrlf-· approbation, and the love 
ol others, yet che neglect of them is nat at- 


paid | tended 


EA OF NATURE. 127 


tended with remorſe of puniſhment. | It ii 


true, that a perſon of a ſociable and gene- 
tous temper, will be ſtrongly impelled to ae. 
tions of this kind, and will feel pain and 
uneaſineſs upon reflecting, that he has. not 
been ſo uſeful to his friends, his country, or 

mankind, as he might have been. But this 
uneaſineſs does not ariſe to what is properly 
called remorſe, or ſelf-condemnation, tho it 
may, in ſome inſtances, approach to it. There 
is undoubtedly a diſtinction here, tho' it 
be not eaſy to aſcertain the preciſe limits of 
feelings that ate fo much allied to one ano- 
ther, any more than it is to fix the exatt 
boundary betwixt light and darkneſs, or to 

diſtinguiſh the very laſt ſhade of any colour 
in tints that run into each other. To in- 
ſtance in another caſe, which belongs to the 
fime head of benevolence. We are oblig- 
ed to provide for our children; it is ſtrict 
duty, and the neglect of it cauſes remorſe. 
In the caſe of an only brother, ſuppoſe, or 

ſome very near friend who depends entirely 
on Gur help, we feel ſomewhat of the fame 


kind 


| 
| 
| 
] 
| 


128 LAW OF NATURE, 


kind of obligation, tho in a weaker degree; 
and thus, thro” other connections, it dimi- 
niſhes by ſucceſſive gradations, till at laſt the 
motive to beneyolence i is loſt in ſimple ap- 
probation, without any obligatory feeling. 
This is univerſally the courſe which nature 
bolds. . Her tranſitions are ſoft and gentle ; ; 

makes things approximate ſo nicely one 
to another, as to leave no gap or chaſm. 
Where the object of theſe feelings can be 
clearly and fully diſtinguiſhed, it may be 
ſafely aſſerted, that, in che general caſe, of 
procuring poſitive good to others, or ad- 
Yancing, happinels, it is ſelf. approbation and 
not ſtriet obligation that is felt. But where 
the object of benevolence is diſtreſs, there 
it becomes a duty, provided it is in our po- 
er to afford relief without hurting ourſelves. 
The negle& of ſuch an action is certainly at- 
tended with remorſe and ſelf-condemnation ; ; 
tho” poſſibly, not of ſo ſtrong a kind, as 
where we betray our truft, or are the au- 


thots of politive miſchief t to others. Thus 
2 LY | cha- 


"© * * 


— 


.. LAW OF NATURE. 129 
chatity is, by all mankind, conſidered as a 
5 to 2 are d NE Va 

ends are the dus ines of " TH which 
govern. our actions, comprehending both 
what we may do, and what we ought to do. 
And now, dropping the former to be indulg- 
ed by every one at pleaſure without reſtraint, 
we ſhall confine ourſelves to the latter, as 
the more proper ſubject of laws, both na- 
tural and municipal. And no more ſcems 
to be requiſite in this matter, than clearly 
10 point out our duty, by informing us of 
what we ought to do, and what we ought 
nat to do; ſeeing actions, which eome not 
under the character of duty, may be ſafely 
left ta our own choice. With regard then 
ta what may be called our duty, the firſt and 
primary law is the law of reſtraint, by which 
we are prohibited to hurt others in their 
perſons, goods, or whatever elſe is dear to 
them. The ſecond is a poſitive law, that 
we ought to relieve thoſe in diſtreſs. The 
R omiſ- 


ie LAW or NATURE. 


ifion of this duty does not, cateris pork 
15 affect us ſo ſtrongly with the ſenſe of 
wrong, as the tranſgreſſion does of the for- 
mer law. Becauſe the creating of poſitive 
pain has a greater effect upon the mind, 
than merely the forbcaring to relieve others 
from pain; as there is a; cloſer connection 
in the imagination betwixt a man and his 
actions, than betwixt a man and any action 
he forbears to do. Fidelity comes, in the 
| third place, as a poſitive duty, comprehend- 
ing the cate of our offspring, performance 
of promiles, executing truſts, &c, Gratitude 
takes up the fourth place of Politive duty. 
And that branch of benevolence having for 
ts object the adyancing the good of others, 
| s up. the laſt place, which, if at all to be 
| Filed among our duties, is then only to be 
ranked, when it is applied to thoſe who are 
5 nearly. connected with us, and to general 
objects. ſuch as our town, our ee. our 
ee g. 2 TON 


v1 1. 


LAW OF NATURE. 131 
THESE ſeveral laws are admirably adjuſt- 
ed: to our nature and circumſtances, and 
tend in the moſt perfect manner to promote 
the ends of ſociety. In the firſt place, as man 
is limited with regard to power and capacity, 
the above laws are accommodated to his na- 
ture, ordering and forbidding nothing but 
what falls within his compaſs. In the ſecond 
place, peace and ſecurity in ſociety are am- 
ply provided for, by tying up the hands, as 
it were, of every man from harming others. 
In the third place, man is prompted to the 
utmoſt of his ability to be uſeful to others. 
Tis his poſitive duty to relieve the diſtreſſed, 
and perform his engagements. And he is 
incited to do all the good he can by the 
pleaſure of the action, by benevolence and 
gratitude from the perſons obliged. And 
laſtly, in competition betwixt himſelf and 
others, tho his principles of action directed 
upon himſelf, may be ſtronger than thofe 


directed upon others, the fuperior rewards bY 


beſtowed: by the conſtitution af our nature 
s | upon 


33 H&W DE/NATURE: 
pail the latter, may be deemed a fuffixi- 
. ent! counterdbalaince a. 4 g e 
the Kd e [Oo This 4 4 e e 
£01442) 3,46 190 2008 | * 10 12 {4880 
Ir nnd ben ſtrange; chat the tuned 
law-of all countries is ſo little regardful of 

the laws of nature, as to adopt but a vety = 
few of them. There never was a poſitive 
law in any country, to puniſh ingratitude, if 
it was not among the antient Perſians. There 
is no poſitive law to enforee compaſſion, 
and to relieve; thoſe in diſtreſs, if the main- 
tenance of tha poor be excepted, whichy in 
ſome countries; ĩs provided for by law. No- 
notice is taken of breach of friendſhipꝭ by 
ſtatute, nor of the duty we owe our children, 
further than of ſupporting them while they 
are under age. But municipal laws, being 
of human invention, are of no great extent. 


tions, further than as expreſt by outward 
acts. And theſe are to be judged: of tanti- 
n and wich reſerve; F nuf they farm 
ett a lan- 


LAW DEF/NATURE 133 
a language, dark, and at beſt full of ambigu- 
ities." At the ſame time, the object of ht» 
man laws is man, conſidered: ſingly in the 
quality of a citizen. When ſociety is form- 
od, and government ſubmitted. to, every pri- 
vate right is given up, incunſiſtent with ſo- 
ciety and government. But, in every other 
reſpect, individuals reſerve their independen- 
ey and their private rights. Whether a man 
be virtuous, is not the concern of the ſocie- 
ty, at leaſt not of its laws; but only whe 
ther he tranſgreſs thoſe regulations, which 
are neceſſary to the preſervation of ſociety. 
In this view, great attention is given by the 
legiſlature in every country, to enforce the 
natural law of geſtraint from mutual hurt 
and injury. The like attention is given, to 
enſorce the natural obligation of fidelity, at 
leaſt ſo far as relates to commerce; for, inti- 
delity in love and kriendſip are left to the 
natural law. Ingratitude is not puniſhed 
by. human, laws ; becauſe it may be guard- 
ed * by poſitive engagements; nor 
hard- 


134 LAWOE NAT HRE. 

Hard-heartedneſs with regard to objects of 
iſtrels, becauſe ſociety may ſubſiſt without 
eh 2 law; and mankind are ſearce yet ar- 


Sg % 


Low an enen of this erime, fulficient 
to o make i it an object of human puniſhment. 


£ 


"TR ERE is another Cabſtantal reaſon, 
Which confines human laws within a much 
narrower compaſs, than the laws of nature. 

It is effential to human laws, that they be 
clear, plain, and readily applicable to parti- 
cular caſes; without which, judges would be 
arbitrary, and law made a handle for oppref- 
ſion. For this reaſon, none of our actions 
can be the object of poſitive law, but what 
are reducible to a preciſe rule. Ingratitude 
therefore cannot be the object of human 
laws, becauſe the quality of the crime de- 
pends upon a multiplicity of circumſtances, 
which can never be reduced to a preciſe rule. 
Duty to our children, friends and relations 


+ Is, with _ to moſt circumſtances, in the 


4 ſame 


LAW or NATURE. 135 
ſime caſe. The duty of relieving the Al 
ttelſed, in like manner, depends upon many 


circumſtances, the nature of the diſtreſs, the 


connection betwixt the parties, the oppor- 
tunity and ability of affording relief. The 
abſtinence from mutual harm, and the per- 
formance of | promiſes are capable -to be 
brought under a preciſe rule, and theſe only 
are tho Om of human . 7 


3 4 
— 


» CHAP. 


| 
| 
| 
| 
| 
| 


7 r r ene 
* 1 CHA D. IX. * . 5 
. Law of Nats Tons. 


7 we can iſh hiſtory, the original inha- 

: bitants of this earth were 2 brutiſh and 
favage race. And we have lirele reaſon to 
doubt of the ſact, ben, even at this day, 
we find the fame Toft of people in diſtam 
corners, who have no communication with 
the reſt of mankind. The ſtate of nature 
is accordingly repreſented by all writers, as 
a ſtate of war; nothing going on but rapine 
and bloodſhed. . From this picture of the 
firſt men, one would be apt to conclude; 
that man, by nature, is a wild and rapacious 
animal, little better than a beaſt of prey, but, 
for his inclination to ſociety, which moulds 
him gradually into a rational creature. If 
this concluſion be juſt, we cannot help being 
in ſome pain for the principles above laid 


- down. Brutiſh manners imply bratiſh prin- 


: ciples of action; and, from this view of the 
Ffiginal ſtate of mankind, it may ſeem that 
885 moral 


LAWOF NATURE. 137 
moral virtues are not natural, hut acquired 
by means of education and example in a well 
regulated ſociety. In a word, that the whole 
moral part of our ſyſtem is artificial, as Jultiec 
aer by a late writer. 1 


'Bu T to be. ſatisfied of * fallacy of 
thiscoadhuion; we need only look back to 
what has already been ſaid upon the moral 
ſenſe. If the feeling of beauty and defor- 
mity in external exiſtences be natural 10 
man, the feeling of beauty and deſormity, 
and of a right and wrong in actions, is equ- 
ally ſo. And indeed, whatever be the influ- 
ence of education and example, tis an evident 
truth, that they can never havę the power of 
cteating any one ſenſe. or feeling. They 
may well have the effect of cheriſhing and 
improving the plants of nature's formatian, 
but they cannot introduce any ne ar ori- 
ginal plant whatever. We myſt therefore 
atttibnte the above appearances to ſome other 
cauſe than want of the moral ſenſe; and 
chels Appearances may eaſily be e 
e 8 or, 


* 


138 LAW OF NATURE. 
for, from peculiar circumſtances, that are 
ſufficient to over balance the moſt. vigorous 
operations of the moral ſenſe, and to pro- 
duce, in a good meaſure, the ſame eſſects 
which would reſult from a total abſence of 
that ſenſe. Let us point out theſe circumſtan- 
ces, for the ſubject is worthy of our ſtriqteſt 
attention. The original ſituation of man- 
Kind will, in the firſt place, be attended to, 
when the earth was uncultivated, and in a 
great meaſure barren; when there was a 
ſcarcity of inſtruments for raiſing: habitati- 
ons, and a greater ſcarcity of manufactures 
| to ſupply the neceſſities of life. In this ſtate, 
man was a moſt indigent creature, and, up- 
on the principle of ſelf· preſervation, intitled 
to ſupply his wants the beſt way he could, 
vithout any obſtruction from the moral 
ſenſe. Thus there behoved to be à con- 
ſtant oppoſition of intereſts, and of conſe- 
quence perpetual diſcord. At the ſame time 
there being no eſtabliſhed rules of conduct 
0 appeal to, nor judges to apply rules to 
ne, wars of old behoved to be 
8 at 


LAW OF NATURE. 139 
at leaſt as frequent as law ſuits are at pre- 
ſent. In this "ſtate; 'barbarity, roughneſs, 
and cruelty formed the character of the hy- 
man ſpecies. For, in the practice and ha- 
bit of war, the malevolent principles gain 
ſtrength and vigour, as the benevolent prin- 
 ciples, do by the arts of peace. And to this 
conſideration may be added, that man is by 
nature ſhy and timorous, and conſequently 
cruel when he gets the upper-hand. The 
ſecurity obtained in ſoclety puts an end in 
2 great meaſure to our fears. Man becomes 
a magnanimous and generous creature, not 


eaſily daunted, and therefore not eaſily 271 
3 to as of cruelty." 


| AI may be obſerved, in the next place, 
that the rude and illiterate are governed by 
their appetites and paſſions, more than by 
general principles. We have: our firſt im- 
preſſions from particular objects. "Tis-by 
education and pra ice that we acquire a fa- 
cility in forming complex ideas, and abſtract 
' propolitions. The ideas of a common inte- 


144. reſt, 


140 LAW; QF NATURE. 


reſt,.. of a country, of a people, of a ſociety 
under government, of pu blick good, ate 
complex, and not ſoon acquired even by the 
thinking part of man kind. I bey are ſcarce 
ever to be acquired by the rude and illite- 
rate; and conſequently do not readily. be- 
game the object of any of theic affections. 
One s own, intereſt, conſidered in general, is 
os complex an object for the bulk of man- 
ind; and therefore i it is, chat the particular 
appetites. and, paſſions are ſtronger motiycs 
10 action with the ignorant, and unthinking, 
than the principle of ſelf· love, or even than 
of ſelf-preſervation, hen it is not incited 
by ſome particular object which threatens 
danger. And the ſame muſt hold more 
ſirongly with regard to the affections of be- 
nevolence, charity and ſuch like, when there 
is no particular object i in view, but * in 
general the; good of others. | 


4,7 4 eln. lr ien! 
MAN 8 machine, dr 
various principles of motion, which may be 


-CONCSIVEd. as lo, un ſpriops and weights, 
nn. | coun- 


counteracting and balancing one another. 
Theſe being accurately adjuſted,” the moye- 
ment of life is beautiful, becauſe regular and 
uniform. But if ſome ſprings or weights be 
withdrawn, thoſe which remain, acting how 
without oppoſition from their antagoniſt 
forces,will diſorder the balance; and derange 
the whole machine. Remove thoſe prineĩ- 
ples of action which operate by reflection, 
and whoſe objects are complex and general 
ideas, and the neceſſary conſequence will be, 
to double the force of the appetites and paſ- 
ſions, pointing at particular objects; which 
| is always the caſe with thoſe who a& by 
ſenſe, and not by reflection. They are ty⸗ 
ranniſed by paſſion and appetite, and have 
no conſiſtent rule of conduct. No wondety 
that the moral ſenſe is of no ſufficient au- 
thority to command obedience in ſuch a 
caſe, This is the character of ſavages. We 
have no reaſon then to conclude, from the a- 
bove picture, that even the greateſt ſavages 
are deſtitute of the moral ſenſe. Their defect 
rather lies i in the weakneſs of their general 

prin- 


he DAW OF NATURE 

_ pfinciptes of action, whick terminate in ob! 
jects too complex for ſavages readily to com- 
| prehend. This defect is remedied by educati- 
on and reflection; and then it is, that the mo- 
ral ſenſe, tn concert with theſe general ret 
ples, acquires its full authority, which is op- 
hy ITY and chearfully — t. 

Ar Men! 

Tur contemplation is beautiful when we 
compare our gradual improvement in know- 
ledge and in'morality We begin with fur- 
veying particular objects, and lay in a ſtock 
of fimple ideas. Our affections keep pace, 
being all directed to particular objects; and, 
during this period, we are governed princi: 
pally by our paſſions and appetites. So 
ſoon as we begin to form complex and ge- 
neral ideas, | theſe' alſo become the objects 
ol our affectlons. Then it is, that love to 
bur country begins to exert itſelf, benevo- 
lence to our neighbours and acquaintances, 


affection to our relations as ſuch. We ac- 
_ huire by degrees the taſte of public good, 
and of * uſeful in life. The om” 

| Q= 


LAW OPNATURB. 143 
ſociety thicken upon us. The ſelfiſh paſli- 
ons are tamed and ſubdued, and the ſocial 
aſſections gain the aſcendant. We refine 
upon the. pleaſures of ſociety, becauſe our 
" happineſs principally conſiſts in ſocial inter- 
-courſe. We learn to ſubmit our opinions, 
We affect to give preference to others, and 
readily accommodate ourſelves to every thing 
which may render ſociety more complete. 
The malevolent paſſions, above all, are 
brought under the ſtricteſt culture, if not to- 
tally eradicated. Inſtead of unbounded re- 
venge for the ſmalleſt injury, we acquire 2 
degree of ſelf- denial to overlook trifling 
wrongs, and in greater wrongs to be fatisfi- 
ed with moderate reparation. 


V1 


* 


Ar the ſame time, it is inns: that the mo- 
ral ſenſe, tho rooted in the nature of man, 
admits of great refinements by culture and 
education. It improves gradually like our 
other powers and faculties, till it comes to 
be productive of the ſtrongeſt as well as moſt 
delicate feelings. To clear this point, eve- 


iy 


: xIFbnement of taſte, which, bei 


% LAW:OF NATURE. 


y one mult he ſenſible of the great advait- 
tages of education and Imitation. The moſt 
poliſhed nations differ only en favages in 

ng productive 
of nice and deliegte feelings; is -- ſource of 
Pleaſure and pain, more exquiſite than fave 
Ses 216 ſuſceptihle of. Hence it is, that ma- 


ny ee Which make little impreſſion up- 
on ſavages, appear to us elegant and beauti- 


ful. As on the other hang, actions, which give 
' theni no pain, raiſe in us avceſion and dif- 
ot. This way be illuſtrated by a compa- 
riſon bet wit the Engliſh ; and French dra- 
_ matic performances. The Engliſh, a rough 
and hardy people, take delight-in repreſen- 
rations, which more refined manners render 
inſupportable to their neighbours. The diſ- 
rrefles, on the other hang, repreſented on 
the French theatre, are too. {light for an En- 
gliſm; audience. Their paſſions are not raiſ- 
ed: they feel no concern. In general, hor- 
ror, which denotes the higheſt degree of 
jy and averſion that mn be raiſed by a 
arſh ation, i 1 a paſſion ſeldom Felt among 


flerce 


AW bf NATURE. 145 


fierce and ſavage nations where humanity is 
little regurded- But, when the tender affec- 
tions art improved by ſociety, horror is more 
caſtly raiſed, and objects which move hor- 
OR more e e nenen. 
WII n nbi * 
Tur ee eee out 
bother ſenſes in their gradual refinement, but 
receives additional ſtrength upon every oc- 
caſton from tlieſe other ſenſes For example, 
4 ſavage, enured to acts of 'cruelty, feels little 
Pain or averſion in putting an enemy to death 
in cold blood, and conſequently will have no 
remorſe at ſuch at action, other than what 
proeceds from the moral ſenſe, acting by its 
native ſtrength. But let us ſuppoſe a per- 
ſon of ſo delicate feelings, as ſcarce to en- 
dure a common operation of phlebotomy, | 
and who cannot behold, without ſome de- 
gree of horror, the amputation: of a frac- 
tured member; ſuch a perſon wilt be ſhock- 
ed to the higheſt degree, if he ſee an enemy 
put to death in cold blood. The grating e- 
* thus raifed' in him, muſt communi- 
; T cate 


yy LAW-OP/NATURE. 


cate itſelf to the feelings of the moral ſenſe, 
and render them much more acute And 
thus, refinement in taſte; and manners, -0pe- 
rating, by communication upon the, moral 
ſenſe, occaſions a ſtronger feeling of immo · 
rality in every vicious action, than what 
would ariſe. before ſuch reſinement. At the 

Game time, the moral ſenſe improves. in its 
| delicacy, as well as the other ſenſes; where- 
by a double effect is produced, owing to a 
double cauſe. And therefore, upon the 
whole, the operations of the moral ſenſe in 
a ſavage, bear no proportion to its operations 
in a perſon, who ſtands poſſeſſed of all the 
advantages which human nature is ſuſgep- 
tible * 0 refined TO. r. 

* NEVER u file FTW deſeripti- 
on given of the law of nations, commonly ſo 
called, that it is a la eſtabliſhed among na- 
tions by common conſent, for regulating 
their conduct with regard to each other. 
Tbis foundation of the law of nations I take 
ta e chimerieal. F or, upon what occaſion 


* ; Was 


_ 
aa: * 


EAW OP NATURE. 147 
Ms this covenant made, and by whom? 
If/it be fad, that the ſenſe of common 
good gradually brought this law into force 
J anſwer, That the ſenſe of common good 
is too complex, and too remote an object to 
be a ſolid foundation for any poſitive law, 
if it has no other foundation in our na- 
ture. But there is no neceſſity to recur to 
ſo flender a foundation. What is juſt now 
obſerved will lead us to a more rational ac- 
_ Eount'sf theſe laws. They are no other 
bur gradual refinements of the original law 
of nature, accommodating itſelf to the im- 
proved ſtate” of mankind. © The law of na- 
ture, which is the law of « our nature, can- 
not be ſtationary.” It muſt vary with the 
nature of man, and conſequently refine gra- 
dually as human hature refines. Putting an 
enemy to death in cold blood, is now look- 
ed upbn with diſtaſte and horror, and there- 
fore is immoral; tho” it was not always ſo in 
the fame degree.” It is conſidered as barba- 
Tous and inhuman, to fight with'poifoned 
weapons, and therefore is more*remarkably 
ned | "a 


ag} LAW OF NATURE 
diſapproved of. by the moral. ſenſc; chan it 
was originally. Influenced by general ob- 
jects, we haye enmity againſt France. Which 
is our natural enemy; but this enmity in nat 
directed againſt individuals; conſcious as we 
are, that it is the duty of ſubjedts to ſerve 
their king and country. Therefore we treat 
| priſoners of war with humanity: - And now 
it is creeping in among civilized nations, 
that, in war, a cartel ſhould be eſtabliſhed 
for exchange of prifoners. The function of 
an embaſſador has ever been held ſacred. 
Jo treat him ill was originally immoral, 
becauſe it is treating as an enemy the man 
who comes to us with friendly intentions. 
But the improved manners of latter times, 
have refined, upon the privileges of an em- 
baſſador, and extended them far beyond 
what they were originally. It is very true, 
that cheſe refinements of tha law of na- 
5 gain ſtrength and firmneſs by cuſtom. 
Hereby they acquire the additional ſupport 
of common conſent. For, as every nation 
ute that the. laws will be obſeryed, it is 


b upon 


LAW OF NATURE. 149 
upon that account a breach of faith to tranſ- 
greſs them. But this is not peculiar to theſe 
particular inſtitutions which paſs under the 
name of the law of nations. There is the 
ſame adventitious foundation for all the laws 
of nature, Which every man truſts will be 
obſerved, and upon that faith directs his con- 


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ESSAY III. 
genre and NxcgSSITY, 


Ti; 


HEN we apply-our Gg to the 
coontemplation of final cauſes, nd 
ſubject more readily preſents itſelf than the 
natural world, which is ſtamped with the 
brighteſt charaRers of wiſdom and goodneſs: 
The moral world, being leſs in view, has 
been generally overlooked, tho it yields not 
to the other in rich materials. Man's in- 
ward ſyſtem, accurately ſurveyed, will be 
found not leſs admirable than the external 
ſyſtem, of which he makes a part. The 
ſubje is the more curious, that the traces 
of wiſdom and deſign, diſcernible in our in- 
ternal frame, ly more out of common ſight.” 
They are touches, as it were, of a- finer 
pencil, and of a nicer hand, than are diſco- 
vered in the natural world. Thought is more 
ſabtile than motion, and more of exquiſite 
art is diſplayed in the laws of voluntary ac- 
tion, 


„ LIBERTY, | 
tion, than there is ww * in e the 
laws of met& matter. © © :! 


Ia ; 3 
AN extreme beantifal ſcene opens | to our 


view, when we conſider with what propri 
1y;the ideas) feelings, and whole. conſty 
08; of; the mind, of man; coreclpond-to hi 
preſent ſtate. Ihe impreſſions. he receives, 
and he notions he forms, are accurately ad- 
apted- to the uſeful purpoſes of life, tho! 
chey do not correſpond in every inſtance ic 
the philoſophic truth of things... It was net 
intended that man ſhould make profound 
diſcoveries. . Heis framed to be more an 
actiye than a contemplative being and his 
views bock of the, natural and moral world 
are ſo adjuſted; as to be made ſubſervient to 
coxreftneſs of jon. rather than of belief, 
Seyeral inſtances there are of, perceptions, 
which, for want of a more proper term, 
may be called deceitful; becauſe they differ 
from, the real truth. But man is not there · 
by in the leaſt miſled. On the contrary. 
che ends of life and action are better pro- 
___ vided 


AND NECESSIT TV. 153 


vided | for by ſuch: artifice, than if theſe per- 


ceptions were more exact e of their ob- 
ah | | ) . 


pi the natural world, ſamewhat of this 

| kind i is generally admitted by modern phi. 
loſophers. It is found, that the repreſentati- 

ons of external objects, and their qualities 
conyeyed by the ſenſes, ſometimes differ 
from what philoſophy diſcovers theſe ob- 
jeQs, and their qualities to be. Thus a ſur- 
face appears {ſmooth and uniform, when its 
roughneſs is not ſuch, as to be hurtful. The 
ſame ſurface, examined with a microſcope, 
is found to be full of ridges and hollows, 
Were man endowed with a microſcopic eye, 
the bodies that ſurround him, would appear 
as different from what they do at preſent, 
as if he were tranſported into another world. 
His ideas, upon that ſuppoſition, would in- 
deed be more agreeable to ſtrict truth, but 
they would be far leſs ſerviceable in com- 
mon life. F urther, it is now univerſally 
admitted, that the qualities called ſecundary, 
» <4: 1: 


24. EF 
which we by natural inſtin&- attribute 
to matter, belong not properly to matter, 

nor exiſt really without us. Colour in 

particular is a ſort of viſionary beauty, which 
nature has ſpread over all her works. It is 

2 wonderful artifice, to preſent objects to 

us thus differently diſtinguiſhed: to mark 

them out to the eye in various attires, ſo as 

to be beſt known and remembered: and to 

paint on the fancy, gay and lively, grand and 
ſtriking, or ſober and melancholy ſcenes: 
whence many of our moſt pleaſurable and 
moſt affecting ſenſations ariſe. Vet all this 
beauty of colours, with which heaven and 
earth appear clothed, is a ſort of romance 
and illufion. For, among external objects, 
to which colours are attributed by ſenſe, 
therei is really no other diſtinction, than what 
arifes from 'a difference in the fize and ar- 
rangement of the conſtituent parts, where- 
by the rays of light, are reflected or re- 
fracted in fuch different ways, as to paint 
Various colours on the retina of the eye. 
From this, and other inſtances of the fame 


ind which might be adduced, it appears, 
that 


AND NECESSIT v. 155 
chat our perceptions ſome times, are leſs ac- 
commodated to the truth of things, than to 
the end for which our ſenſes are deſigned. 
Nature, at the ſame time, has provided a re- 
medy; for ſhe ſeldom or never leaves us 
without means of diſcovering the deception; 
and arriving at the truth. And it is won- 
derful, that, even when we act upon theſe de- 
ceitful impreſſions, -we are not betrayed in- 
to any thing that is hurtful. On the con- 
trary, life and action are better provided for, 
and the ends of our being fulfilled to more 
advantage, than if we conducted ourſelves 
e neee — ) 


Bf us carry on this ſpeculation Rom 
the natural to the moral world, and examine 
whether there are not here alſo, analogous 
inſtances of deceitful impreſſions. This will 
lead us into an unbeaten tract. We are to 
open a ſcene entirely new; which, like moſt 
other things that are new, may perhaps 
ſurprize the reader. But he will ſuſpend 
his a till he has leiſurely reviewed 

the 


156 7 FBERIFYT A 
the whole: and; then! let him pronounce; 
Whether our hypotheſis does not ſolve all 
the phenomena :, whether it does nbt tally 
Vith the nature of man, and illuſtrate the 
eee om as e his 
nature. ; 
O 
That i can 3 — a dune 
5 is a pringiple embraced. by all men, the illi- 
_terate and ignorant as well as the learned. 
Nothing that happens is conceived as hap- 
pening of itſelf, but as an efe& produced 
by ſome other thing. However ignorant 
of the cauſe, we notwithſtanding conclude, 
that every event muſt have a cauſe. We 
ſhould, perhaps be at a. loſs to dedyee this 
principle, from any premiſes, by a chain of 
reaſoning :., but. feeling affords conviction, 
where reaſon leaves us in the dark. We 
perceive, we feel the propoſition to be true. 
And, indeed, a ſentiment, common to all, 
muſt be founded on the common nature of 
all. Curioſity is one of the earlieſt paſſions 
| ther arp diſcovered in children; and their 


eurioſity 


AND NECESSITY. 157 


curioſity runs on nothing more than to have 
cauſes and reaſons given them, why fuch a 


thing happened,” or how it came about. 
| Hiſtorians and politicians make it their chief 
concern, to trace the cauſes, of actions, the 
moſt myſterious not excepted. Be an event 
ever ſo extraordinary, the feeling of its be- 
ing an effect, is not in the leaſt weakened, 
even with the vulgar, who, rather than af- 
ſign no cauſe, recur to the operation of in- 
viſible powers. What is a cauſe with re- 
ſpect to its proper effect, is conſidered as an 
effect with reſpect to ſome prior cauſe, and 
ſo backward without end. Events thus 
viewed, ina train of cauſes and effects, ſhould 
naturally be conſidered, one would think, 
as neeeſſary and fixed: for the relation be- 
twixt à cauſe and its effect implies ſome- 
what preciſe and determinate, and leads our 
thoughts to what muſt be, and cannot be © o- 
nnn it *. 0 * 27 


20 Thar we have ſuch a feeling as is above 
"deſcribed, 'is not to be conttoverted: and 
Dine yet, 


l 
} 
1 
| 
[ 
1 
{i 
! 
| 
N 
' 


133 LIBERTY 

yet, when we ſearch further. into human 
nature, à feeling of an oppoſite kind is diſ- 
covered, a feeling of chance or contingency 
in events; which is not leſs deeply rooted in 
our nature than the former. However ſtrange 


it may appear, that man ſhould be com- 


poſed of ſuch inconſiſtencies, the fact muſt 
notwithſtanding be admitted. This feeling 
of chance or contingency is moſt conſpicu- 
ous, when we look forward to future events. 
Some things we indeed always conſider, as 
certain, or neceſſary, ſuch as the revoluti- 
on of ſeaſons, and the riſing and ſetting of 


the ſun. Theſe, as expefience teaches, are 


regulated by fixed laws. But many things ap- 


Pear to us looſe, fortuitous, uncertain. Uncer- 
tain not only with reſpect to us, on account 


of our ignorance of the cauſe; but uncertain 


In themſelves, or not tied down, and prede- 


termined to fall out, by any invariable law. 
We naturally make a diſtinction betwixt 


things that muſt be, and things that may be, 
or may not be. Thus we have a feeling of 
Chance or xr of contingency in events, in which 


that 


* . bs 


AND NECESSITY. 159 

that other feeling, of the dependency of e- 
vents upon — and mn n 
8 to N | | 
Wren we conſider in whit view our | 
own actions are petecived by the mind, there 
is ſomething which is equally ſtrange and 
ſurpriſing. It is admitted by all men, that 
we act from motives. The plain man, as 
well as the philoſopher, feels the congecti- 
on betwixt an action and its motive, to be 
ſo ſtrong, that, from this feeling, both of 
them' reaſon with full confidence abbut the 
future actions of others. That an avariti- 
ous man, will take every fair opportunity of 
cquiring riches, is as little doubted, as that 

— and fun- ſhine will make plants grow. 
Why, but becauſe the motive of gain, s 
judged to operate, as certainly and infallibly, 
upon his temper, as heat and moiſture upon 
the foil, each to produce its proper effect? 
If we are uncertain what part a man will 
act, the uncertainty ariſes, not from our 
doubring whether he will act from a mo- 


tive; '; 


| 


260 LIBERTY 


tive; for this 3 is never called in * ir 
ariſes from our not being able to judge, what 
the motive is, which, in his preſent circum- 
ſtances, will prevail. It being then a natu- 
ral feeling, that actions are ſo connected with 
their proper motives, as neceſſarily to ariſe 
from the temper, character, and other cir- 
| cumſtances of the agent, it ſhould ſeem, 
that all the train of human actions, would 
occur to our minds As neceſſary and fixed. 
Vet human actions do not always appear 
to us in this light. It is a matter of fact, 
that the feeling varies, according to the dif- 
ferent poſitions, of the object. Previous to 
any particular action, we indeed always 
judge, that the action will be the neceſſary 
reſult of ſome motive. But has a man done 
what is wrong and ſhameful? Inſtantly the 
feeling varies. We accuſe, and we condemn 
him, for ating. the wrong and ſhameful 
part. We conceive that he had a power of 
acting otherways, and ought to have ated 
otherways. The whole train of our feelings, 


in a moment, accommodate themſelves to 
the 


— 11 
19114 


AND NECESSITY. 167 
| 'the ſuppoſition of his 1 entirely . he 
een 


eden are aa in hüman na- 
ture, of a very ſingular xind: feelings, which 
on both ſides are natural, and yet claſh with 
each other: every event admitted to have 
a neceſfary eauſe; and yet many events fup- 
poſed contingent: every action admitted ne- 
ceſtarily ꝛo flow from à determining motive; 
and yeg the fame action, in an after view, 
_ conſidered and judged of as free. Our feel- 
Ings are no doubt the teſt of truth ; which is 
fo evident, that, in many inſtances, no other 
means are afforded us for coming at the 
vered by reaſon or experience, ſerve rhe 
mot to confirm the general rule. But the 
-feelings. we have now laid open can be no 
teſt of truth; becauſe, in contradictory pro- 
poſitions, truth cannot ly on both fides. 
There is no other way to get ont of this la- 
byrinth of doubts and difficulties, than to 

enter upon a ſtrict ſurvey both of the natu 
X ral 


46 % LIZ EBRT T 
ral and kind world, which may poſſibly 
lead to a diſcovery of what is really the 
truth of the matter. -Let us then proceed, 
with impartiality and attention, to inquire 
what we are to believe, concerning contin- 
gency in events, and liberty or neceſſity in 
human actions: whether our feelings can be 
reconciled to each other, and reconciled to 
truth; or whether there be not here ſome of 
thoſe deccitful feelings, which we have al- 
ready hinted in ane Aker: o to be- 
of ere erer 


12 1 view * the aac we 
. find all things there proceeding in a fixed 
and ſettled train of cauſes and effects. It is a 
point which admits of no diſpute, that all 
the changes produced in matter, and all the 
different modifications it aſſumes, are the re- 
ſult of fixed laws. Every effect is for pre- 
eiſely determined, that no other effect could, 
in ſueh circumſtances, have poſſibly reſult- 
ed. from che operation of the cauſe: which 
|  hglds even in the minuteſt changes of the 
WE wo 4 | dif- 


AND NECESSITY. 163 
different elements, as all philoſophers ad- 
mit. - Caſual. and fluctuatiug as theſe ſeem, 
their ſmalleſt variation is a neceſſary effect of 
pre- eſtabliſned laws. There is a chain of 
eauſes and effects which hang one upon an- 
other, running thro' this whole ſyſtem; 
and not the ſmalleſt link of the chain can 
be broken, without altering the whole con- 
ſtitution of things, or ſuſpending the regu- 
lar operation of the laws of nature. Here 


then, in the material world, there is nothing 


that ean be called contingent ; nothing that 
is left looſe; but every thing muſt be preciſe- 
ly what it is, and be found in that ſtate in 
which's we find it. | 


| Is the moral world, this does not appear 


ſo clearly. Man is the actor here. He is 
endowed with will; and he acts from choice. 


| He has a power of beginning motion, which 


is ſubject to no mechanical laws; and there- 
fore he is not under what is called phyfical 
neceſſity. He has appetites and paſſions 
_ prompt him to * reſpective gratifi- 

; cations 


i —— —U— — — 


164 LIBERTY | 
cations: but he is under no neceflity of blind 
ly ſubmitting to their impulſe. For reaſon 
has a power of reſtraint. It ſuggeſts motives 
ſtom the cool views of good and evil. He de- 
liberates upon theſe. In conſequence of his 
deliberation he chuſes: and here, if any- 
where, lyes our liberty. Let us examine to 
what this liberty amounts. That motives 
haveſome inflaence indetermining the mind, 


| is ceftain; and that they have this influence 


in different degrees, is equally certain, The 
ſenſe of | honour and gtatitude, for in- 
ſtance, - are powerful motives to ſerve a 
friend. Let the man's private intereſt/con- 
cur; and the motives become more power- 
ful. Add the certain proſpe& of poverty, 
ſhame, or bodily ſuffeting, if he ſhall act a 
different. part; and you leave him no choice: 
the motives to action are rendered irreſiſt · 
idle. Motives being once allowed to have 
2 determining force in any degree, it is ea- 
fy to ſuppoſe the force ſo augmented, by ac- 
cumulation of motives, as to leave little free- 
dom to the mind, or rather none at all. In 

| 2 ſuch 


AND NECESSITY. 165 
ſuch inſtances, there is no denying that we 
are under a neceſſity to act. And tho this, 
to be ſure, is not phyſical neceſſity, as ariſe 
ing not from the laws of matter, but ftom 
the conſtitution of the mind; yet the con- 
ſequence is equally certain, fixed and una- 
voidable, in the caſe of moral, as of phyfical 
neceſſity. This is ſo true, that, in ſome in- 
ſtances, theſe two kinds of neceſſity ſeem to 
coincide, ſo as ſcarcely to be diſtinguiſhed, 
A criminal walks to the ſcaffold in the midit 
of his guards. No man will deny that he is 
under an- abſolute neceſlity in this. caſe. 
Why? becauſe he knows, that if he refuſes 
to go, they will drag him. I ask, Is this a 
phyſical, or a moral neceſſity? The anſwer, 
at firſt view, is not obvious; for the dif- 
_ tindion betwixt theſe two ſeems loſt. And 
yet, ſtrictly ſpeaking, it is only a moral ne- 
ceſſity: for it isthe force of a motive which 
_ determines the criminal to walk to the [cat- 
fold ; to wit, that reſiſtance is vain, becauſe 
the guards are neither to be forced nor 


ver, 


266 LIBERT T 
ver, in the minds of the ſpectators, when 
* they view the criminal in this ſituation, is 
not leſs ſtrong; than if they ſaw him bound 
and carried on a ſledge. Nothing is more 
common, than to talk of an action which 
done muſt do, and cannot avoid. He was 
compelled to it, we ſay; and it was impoſ- 
ſible he could act other ways: when, at the 
ſame time, all the compulſion we mean, is 
only the application of ſome very ſtrong mo- 
tive to the mind. This ſhows, that, in the 
judgment and feeling of all mankind, a mo- 
tie may, in certain circumſtances, carry in 
it the power of rendering an action neceſſa- 
ry. In other words, we expect ſuch an ac- 
tion in conſequence of ſuch a motive, with 
cqual confidence, as when we expect to ſee 

a ſtone fall 1 Wann In is ou 
| een IAST VIB 


Tuts, irwill de lad may bold! in ſome in- 
FR but not in all. For, in the greater part 
of human actions, there is a teal feeling of 
' liberty. When the mind heſitates bętwixt 

r two 


* 4 1 
* 


AND. NECESSIT V. 67 
two things, examines and compares, and at laſt 
comes to a reſolution, is there any compulſi- 
on or neceſſity here? No compulſion, it ĩs 
gtanted; but as to neceſſity, let us pauſt 
and examine more accurately. The reſolu- 
tion being taken, the choice being made, 
pan what is it founded? ee 


no mortal ever came to a derermlnation,with- 
out the influence of ſome motive or 6ther. 
If this be an undoubted fact, it follows of 
conſequence, that the determination muſt 
reſult, from that motive, hieh has the great- 
eſt influence for the time; or from what ap- 
pears the beſt and moſt eligible upon the 
whole. If motives be of very different 
kinds, with regard to ſtrength and influence, 
which we feel to be the caſe; it is involved 
in the very idea of the ſtrongeſt motive, that 
it muſt have the ſtrongeſt effect in determin- 
ing the mind. This can no more be ddubt- 
ed of, than that, in a balance, the 3 
* muſt turn the ſcalGee. 


: | HERE 


ww. LIBERTY 
| dE Wees 
2e not always rational in their determinati- 
ons: they often act from whim, paſſion, 
| Humour, things as looſe and variable as the 
wind; This it admitted. But; ſuppoſe the 
moet which determines the mind, to be as 
| whimſical and unreaſonable as you pleaſe, 
i inflierice, however, is equally neceſſary 
_ with that of the moſt rational motive. An 
 Indoterit man, for inflanee; ls ineited tO ac- 
on; dy tho ſtrengeſt conſiderations, which 
Seaſon; virtue, intereſt, can ſuggeſt. He wa- 
vers and befitätes; at laſt refiſts them all, 
and ſolds his arms. What is the cauſe of 
is Is it that he is leſs under the power of 
motives than another man? By no means. 
The love of reſt is his motive, his prevail- 
ing paſſion: and this is as eſſectual to fix him 
in his place, as the love of glory or riches 
Atte; to render active, the vain or the covetous. 


Ila fort, if motives are not under our pow- 


ee or direction, which tis. confeſſedly the fact, 
ve can, at bottom, have no liberty. We are 


19 conſtituted, that we cannot exert a ſingle 
action, 


AND NECESSITY. 169 


action, but with ſome view, aim or purpoſe: 
At the fame time, when two oppoſite mo- 
tives preſent themſelves, we have not the 
power of an arbitrary choice. We are di- 
krected, by a neceſſary determination of our 
rr to prefer the ſtrongeſt motive. 


© Ir is true, that, in diſputing upon this 
ſubject of human liberty, a man may attempt 
to ſhow, that motives have no neceſſary in- 
fluence, by eating perhaps the worſt apple 
that is before him, or, in ſome ſuch trifling 
| inſtance, preferring an obviouſly lefſer good 
| to a greater. But is it not plain, that the 
humour of ſhowing that he can act againſt 


motives, is, in this caſe, the very motive of | 
the whimſical ee ? 


bY COMPARISON inſtituted betwixt mo- 
ral and phyſical neceſlity may poſſibly throw 
additional light upon this ſubject. Where 
the motives to any action are perfectly full, 
cogent and clear, the feeling of liberty, as 
we ſhowed before, entirely vaniſhes. In 
. 3 other 


io - LIBERTY 
other caſes, where the field of choice is 
wider, and where oppoſite. motives counter- 
balance and work againſt each other, the 
mind fluctuates for a while, and feels itſelf 
more looſe: but, in the end, muſt as neceſ- 
farily be determined to the ſide of the moſt 
powerful motive, as the balance, after ſeve- 
ral vibrations; mnſt incline to the fide of the 
Preponderating weight. The laws of mind, 
and the laws of matter, are in this reſpect per- 
 feRtly ſimilar; tho', in making the compariſon, - 
we are apt to deceive ourſelves. In form- 
ing a notion of phyſical neceſſity, we ſeldom 
think of any force, but what has viſibly a 
full effect. A man in priſon, or tied to a 
poſt, muſt. remain there. If he is dragged 
along, he cannot reſiſt. Whereas motives, 
which, from the higheſt to the loweſt, are 
very different; do not always produce fen- 
{ible effects. Vet, when the comparifon- is 
accurately inſtituted, , the very ſame thing 
holds in the actions of matter. A weak mo- 
tive makes ſome impreſſion: but, in oppoſi- 
tion to one more powerful, it has no effect 
to 


3 * * 


AN D. NECESSIT V. 17 
to determine the mind. In the preciſe ſame 
manner, a {mall force will not overcome a 
great reſiſtance; nor the weight of an ounce 
in one ſcale, counter-balance a pound in the 
other. Comparing together the actions of 
mind and matter, ſimilar cauſes will, in both 
n produce ſimilar effects. 


Bur admitting all ther has been contend- 
ed for, of the neceſſary influence of mo- 
tives, to bring on the choice or laſt judg- 
ment of the underſtanding, it is urged by 
Dr. Clark, that man is ſtill a free agent, be- 
cauſe he has a power of acting, or beginning 
motion according to his will. In this, he 
places human liberty, that motives are not 
phyſical efficient cauſes of motion . We 
agree with the doctor, that the immediate 
efficient cauſe of motion is not the motive, 
but the will to act. No perſon ever held, 
that the pleaſure ' of a ſummer-evening, 
when a man goes abroad into the fields, is 

© the 


* Vid. Aae of the being and attributes, p. A 
fol. edit, and his anſwer to Colin's paſim, 


2 ' LIBERTY 
the immediate cauſe of the motion of his 


feet. But what does this obſervation avail, 


when the prevailing motive, the will to act, 
and the action itſelf, are three things inſepa- 
rably linked together? The motive, accord- 
ing to his own conceſſion, neceſſarily deter · 
mines the will; and the will neceſſarily pro- 
duces the action, unleſs it be obſtructed by 
ſome foreign force. Is not the action, by 
conſequence, as neceſſary, as the will to act; 
tho the motive be the immediate cauſe of 
the will only, and not of the action or be- 
ginning of motion? What does this author 
gain, by ſhowing, that we have a power of 
beginning motion, if that power never is, 
never can be, exerted, unleſs in conſequence 
of ſome volition or choice, which is neceſſa- 
rily cauſed? But, ſays he, it is only a moral 
neceſſity which is produced by motives; and 
a moral neceſſity, he adds, is no neceſſity at 
all, but is conſiſtent with the higheſt liberty. 
If theſe words have any meaning, the diſpute 
is. at an end. For moral neceſſity, being 
that fort of neceſſity which affects the mind, 
and 


AND NECESSITY. ry 
and. phyſical neceſſity that which affects 


matter, it is plain, that, in all reaſonings 
concerning human liberty, moral neceſſity, 


and no other, is meant to be eſtabliſhed. - 


The laws of action, we ſay, which reſpe& 
the human mind, are as fixcd as thoſe which 
reſpe& matter. The different nature of theſe 
laws, occaſions the fixed conſequences of the 
one to be called moral, and of the other 
to be called phyſical neceſſity. But the idea of 
neceſſary, certain, unavoidable, equally.agrees 
to both. And to ſay that moral neceſſity 
is no neceſſity at all, becauſe it is not phyſi- 
cal neceſſity, which is all that the doRor's 
argument amounts to, is no better, than to 
argue, that phyſical neceſſity is no neceflity 
at all, becauſe it is not moral neceſſity, - 


Ont great ſource of confuſion, in reflect- 
ing upon this ſubject, ſeems to be, our not 
diſtinguiſning betwixt neceſſity and con- 
ſtraint. In eommon language, theſe are uſed 
as equivalent terms; but they ought to be 
diſtinguiſhed when we treat of this ſubject. 
A perſon, having a ſtrong deſire to eſcape, 

remains 


ar 
remains in priſon, becauſe the doors are 
guarded. Finding his keepers gone, he 
makes his eſcape. His eſcape now is as ne- 
ceſſary, i. e. as certain and infallible a con- 

ſequence of the circumſtances he ſinds him- 
ſel in, as his confinement was before; tho, 
in the one caſe there is conſtraint, in the 
other none. In this lyes the liberty of our 
actions, in being free from conſtraint, and 
in acting according to our inclination and 
choice. But as this inclination and choice 
is unavoidably cauſed or occaſioned by the 
prevailing motive; in this lyes the neceſli- 
w of our actions, that, in ſuch circumſtances, 
it was impoſſible we could act otherways. 
In chis ſenſe al our ations are bequally: ne- 
ceſſary. 

Tux preceeding reaſonings may perhaps 
wake a ſtronger impreſſion, by being reduc- 
ed into a ſhort argument, after this manner. 
No man can be conceived to act without 
ſome principle leading him to action. All 
our principles of action reſolve into defires 

and averfions; ; for nothing can prompt us to 


move 


AND NEC ESSIT V. 175 


move or exert ourſelves in any ſhape, but 
what preſents ſome object to be either pur- 
ſued or avoided. A motive is an object ſo 
operating upon the mind, as to produce ei- 
ther deſire or averſion, Now, liberty as op+ 
poſed to moral neceſlity, muſt ſignify a pow+ 
er in the mind, of acting without or againſt 
motives ; that is to ſay, a power of acting 
without any view, purpoſe or deſign, and 
even of acting in contradiction to our own 
defires and averſions, or to all our principles 
of action; which power, beſides that no man 


was ever conſcious of it, ſeems to be an ab- 


ſurdity altogether inconſiſtent with A rati- 
onal nature. 


W. TH IE to things ſuppoſed fo equal 
as to found no preference of one to another, 
it is not neceſſary to enter into any intricate 
inquiry, how the mind in ſuch cafes is di- 
rected. Tho' it ſhould be admitted, that 
where there is no ſort of motive to influ- 
.cnce the mind, it may exert a power of act- 
ing e this would not affect the pre- 

ceeding 


| 
[ 
| 
1 
| 
| 


1 LIBERTY 


ceeding reaſonings,in which, the exiſtence of 

a motive being once ſuppoſed, we have ſhown 
the mind to be neceſſarily determined. Ob- 
jects, ſo balanced one againſt another with 
perfect equality, if ſuch inſtances are to be 
found, muſt be ſo few, and in matters ſo 
trivial (as in the common inſtance of eggs) 
that they can have very inconſiderable influ- 
ence upon human life. It may well admit of 
à doubt, whether the mind be, in any caſe, left 
altogether deſtitute of a motive to determine 
its choice betwixt two objects. For, tho 
the objects ſhould be themſelves perfectly e- 
qual, yet various circumſtances ariſing from 
minute unobſerved ſpecialities, of fancy, cuſ- 
tom, Proximity of place, &c. may turn the 
ſcale in favours of one of the objects, to 
make it the motive of election. The un- 
eaſineſs one is conſcious of, when in this 
ſtate of ſuſpenſe, betwixt two things equally 
balanced, ſearching and caſting about for 
fome ground of choice; this uneaſineſs, I 
lay, ſufficiently ſhows, that to act altogether. 
ar- 


AND NEQESSITY. 177 


arbitrary i is unnatural, and that our conſti- 
tution fits us to ve determined by motives, 


* E 


947) - ##{#3- & 


| . now à thought comes acroſs the 
nd, which demands attention. How hard 
= be lot of the human ſpecies, to be thus 
tied down and fixed to motives; poſed by 
2 neceſſary law to the choice of evil, if e 
happen to be the prevailing motive, or if k 
miſlead us under the form of our greateſt in in- 
tereſt or good! How happy to have had a 
free independent power of acting contrary 
to ' motlves, when th prevailing motive has 
a bad cendency ! By this power, we might 
have puſhed our way to virtue and happi- 
neſs, whatever motives 'were fo ggeſted by 
vice and folly to draw us back; or we might, 
by arbitrary will, have refrained from a&- 
ing the'bad parr, tho! all the powet of mo- 
"tives concutred to urge us on. So far well; 
but let us ſee whither this will carry us. 
II his arbitrary power being once ſuppoſed, 
may it not be exerted "againſt good motives 
as 155 as bad ones? If it does us good by | 
2 AC- 


178 LILBERTY 


1 in reſtraining us from vice, may 
it not do us ill by accident, in reſtraining us 
from virtue? and ſo ſhall we not be thrown 
looſe altogether? Ar this rate, no man could 
be depended upon. Promiſes, oaths, yows, 
would be in vain; for nothing can ever bind 

or fix. a man who is influenced by no mo- 
tive. The diſtinction of characters would be 
at an end; for a perſon cannot have a cha- 
racter, who has no fixed or uniform prinei- 
ples of action. Nay, moral virtue itſelf, and 
all the foree of law, rule and obligation, 
would, upon this hypotheſis, be nothing. 
For no creature can be the ſubject of ra- 
tional or moral government, whoſe actions, 
by the conſtitution of its nature, are inde- 
pendent of motives ; and whoſe will is ca- 
pricious and arbitrary. To exhort, to in- 
ſtruct, to promiſe, or to threaten, would be 
.to no purpoſe, In ſhort, ſuch a creature, 
if ſuch could exiſt, would be a moſt bi- 
zarre and. unaccountable being: a mere 
abſurdity i in nature, whoſe exiſtence could 
ſerve no end, Were we fo; conſtituted, as 
always 


AND'NECESSITY. 179 


always to be determined: by the moral ſenſe, 
even againſt the ſtrongeſt counter-motives, 
this would be conſi ſtent with human nature, 
becauſe it would preſerve entire the con- 
nection, that, by an unalterable law, is eſta- 
bliſhed betwixt the will and the prevailing 
motive. But, to break this connection alto- 
gether, to introduce an unbounded arbitrary 
liberty,” in oppoſition to which, motives 
ſhould not have influence, would be, inſtead 
of amending, to deform and unhinge the 
whole human conſtitution. No reaſon have 
ve therefore to regret, that we find the wilt 
neceſſarily ſubjected to motives. The truth 
of this general pofition muſt coincide with 
our wiſh, unleſs we would rather have mart 
to be, a whimſical and ridiculous, than 4 
rational bigs moral —_ woes | de 


Tabs far Wan we 8 9 in our 
argument, that all human actions proceed 
in a fixed and neceſſary train. Man being 
what he is, a creature endowed with a cer- 

tain Wr of underſtanding, certain paſſi- 
| ons 


19% LIBERTY 


J GY wn | 
ons and principles, and plaged in certain 
Aenne it ee dae will 


544141 


San: His mind is paſſive in receiving im- 
preſſons of things as good or ill: accord- 
ing to to, theſe impreſſions, the laſt, judgment 
of the underſtanding i is neceſſarily formed; ; 
= 


om. the laſt jndgment of the underſtand: 
ing, nece flarily . as is fully ſhown; 


ed with the will, ae ol er. 
dae e. n weren On 


1 16 9d ] 2. id vin 1 
I che ours of n have 
qblirated from all controverſies, about Di- 

vine Preſcience and Decree. Tho' in fact, 
from what has been proved, it appears, that 
the Divine Being decrees all future events. 
For he he gave ſuch x nature to his crea- 
tures, and placed them in ſuch cireumſtan- 


ces, that 4 certain train of actions behov- 
y ed neceſſarily to follow; he, I ſay, who did 
ee muſt have foreſeen the conſe- 


Jo's | quences, 


AN D NECESSITY. 191 


quences, did certainly reſolve or decree that 
events ſhould. fall out, and men ſhould act 
as they do. Preſcience indeed is not, pro- 


perly ſpeaking, any cauſe of events, For 


events do not happen, becauſe they are fore- 
| keen; but becauſe they are certainly, to hap- 
pen, therefore they are capable of being fore- 
ſeen». Tho preſcience does not cauſe, yet 


it undoubtedly ſuppoſes, the certain futuriti+ | 


on (as ſchoolmen ſpeak) of events, And, 
were there not cauſes which render the ex- 
iſtence of future events certain, it would i in- 
yolve, a contradiQion to maintain, that fu- 
ture events could be certainly foreſeen. But 
I avoid carrying the reader any further in- 
to ſuch aer dipures. | 


| Ta — of what we have FEET 
N contingency in events, and Hber- 
ty in actions is this. Comparing together 
the moral and the natural world, every thing 
is as much the reſult of eſtabliſhed laws in 
the one as in the other. There is nothing 


in the whole univerſe that can properly be 
| called 


— — 1 7 


182 LIBERTY 

called contingent, that may be, or may not 
be; nothing looſe and fluctuating in any 
part of nature; but every motion in the na- 
tural, and every determination and action in 
the moral world, are directed by immutable 
laws: ſo that, whilſt theſe laws remain in 
their force, not the ſmalleſt link of the uni- 
verſal chain of cauſes and effects can be 
broken, nor wy one is be wn 


Ams eg 
$295 903 101 Heile 0 . el. Au 


| » As, to : an in besten of making God the anidor of ſin, 
which may ſeem to ariſe from bur ſyſtem, it is rather popu- 
Jar than, philoſophical.” Sin, or moral turpitude, lyes in the 
evil intention of him who commits it: it conſiſts in ſome 
wrong or depraved affection ſuppoſed to be in the linner. 
Now the intention of the Deity is unerringly good,” The 
end propoſed by him is order and general happineſs: and 
there is the greateſt reaſon to believe, that all events are ſo 
directed by him, as to werk towards this end. In the pre- 
Jent ſyſtem of things, ſome moral diſorders are indeed in- 
cluded. No daubt, it is a conſiderable difficulty, how evil 
comes to be in the world, if God is perfectly good. But 
this difficulty ĩs not peculiar to our doctrine ; but recurs up- 
on ys at laſt with equal force, whatever hypotheſis we em- 
brace. For moral evil cannot exiſt, without being, at leaſt, 
permitted by the Deity, And, whir regard) to a firſt cauſe, 
. PERM3TTIXG is the ſame thing with Cauzin ; ſince, a- 
alt bis will _ can poſſibly happen. All the ſchemes 
that 


AND NECESSITY. 183 
- ' Tn x doctrine of univerſal neceſſity being 
thus laid fairly open, and. proved to be the 
true ſyſtem of the univerſe; we return to 
take a more deliberate view of the feelings | 
of contingency and liberty, than was neceſ- 
ſary in broaching the ſubject. And, as we 
muſt now admit, perhaps reluctantly, that 
theſe feelings are in reality of the deluſive 
kind, our next and only remaining theme 
will be to unravel, if poſſible, this curious 
myſtery, by trying to reach the purpoſe 
of endawing man with feelings, ſo contra- 
dictory to the truth of things. | 


AND to begin with à review of the feel 
ing of contingency. It is certain, that, in our 
ordinary train of thinking, things never oc- 
cur to us in the light above ſet forth. A 
multitude of events appear to us as depend- 
ing upon ourſelves to cauſe or to prevent: and 
we readily make a diſtinction betwixt events, 
which are neceſſary, i. e. which mult be, and 
eyents which are contingent, i. e. which may 
2 | 42710, Ne 
chat have been contrived for anſwering this objeQion, ate 
- buz the tortoiſe introduced to ſupport the elephant. They 
; Þut the difficulty a ſtep further off, but never cemove it, 


184 LIBERTY 


be, or ay not be. This diſtinction is with- 


out foundation in truth: for all things that 


fall out, either in the natural or moral orld, 
are, as we have ſeen, alike neceſſary, and a- 
like the reſilt'of fixed laws.” Yet, how much 


ſoever 4 philoſopher may be convinced of 


this, the diſtinction betwixr things neceſſary, 
and things e contingent, remains as much 
with lum, in the common train” of his 
thoughts, as with any other man. We act 
univerfally upon this ſuppoſed diſtinction. 
Nay; itis in truth the foundation of all the 
labour, care and induſtry of mankind. To 
Hluſtrate this by an example; conſtant expe- 
rience has taught us, that death is a neceſſa- 


ry event. The human frame is not made 


to laſt, as it is, for ever; and therefore np 
man thinks of acquiring a natural immorta- 
lity. But the particular time of our death 


appears a contingent event. However cer- 


tain it be, that the preciſe time and man- 


ner of each man's death, is determined by a 
train of preceeding cauſes, not leſs neceſla- 


iy a hour of the ſun baer lern 
5 4 


AND NECESSITY. 18; 
to-morrow, yet no perſon is in the leaſt af- 
feed by this doctrine. In the care of pro- 
longing life, every man is conducted by the 
feeling he has, of the contingeney of the 
time of his death; which, to à certain term 
of yeats, he conſiders as depending in a great 
meaſure upon himſelf, by caution againſt ac- 
cidents, due uſe of exerciſe, medicine, &f. 
To theſe means, he applies himſelf with the 
fame. diligence, as if there was, in fact, no 
neceſſa ry train of cauſes, to ſix the period of 
his life. In ſhort, whoever attends to his 
own practical ideas; whoever reflects upon 
the meaning of theſe words, which occur in 
all languages, of things poſſible, contingent, 
that. are in our power to cauſe or prevent; 
whoever, I ſay, reflects upon ſuch words, 
will clearly ſee, that they ſuggeſt certain 
feelings, or natural notions, repugnant to the 

doctrine above eſtabliſhed, « univerſal ne- 
„ 5 
; A2 ©. Waar 


This repugnaney of feeling to truth, gave riſe to the 
famous diſpute concerning things poſſible, among the antient 
Etoicks, who held this doctrine of univerſal neceſſity. Dio- 

| * gorus 


3 : 
# —ũ—ä ———— — EEE IR SEAArr r ²˙—ß» —el̃ . —  ——————————— 
— ——— — c ˙-‚ —— DD — — GD — —— 
| | | : — 
* ; | 
* 7 
= * 
. 
* 
. 


186 LIBERTY: 


a then ſhall be done i in this caſe, 


whats truth contradicts the common feel- 


ings and natural notions of mankind ; where 
it preſents to us, with irreſiſtible evidence, a 


ſyſtem of univerſal neceſſity upon which we 
never act; but are ſo formed, as to condu& 


= 


, * * of . . p . 
» ' 96 ö | 
Ss 1 , « 1 , Our- 


Vn as 952 1 us in bie book de YE, cap. vii, 


held this opinion, „Id ſolum fieri poſſe, quod aut verum 
« fit, aut futurum fit verum; at quicquid futurum fit, id di- 


« cit hieri neceſſe eſſe, et quiequid non fit futurum, id ne- 


« gat fieri poſſe.” That 5 is, he maintained, there is no- 
thing contingent in future events, nothing poſſible to hap- 


Pen, but that preciſe event which will happen. This no 


doubt was carrying their ſyſtem its due length; tho?, in this 


| Say or peeling, there is ſmetbüng that manifeſtly ſhocks 


the natural feelings of mankind. | Chryſippus, on the other 
hand, ſenſible of the harſhneſs of the above conſequence, 
maintained, that it is poſſible for future events to happen o- 
therways than in fact they happen. In this, he was cer- 
tuinly inconſiſtent with his genetal ſyſtem of neceſſity ; and 
therefore, as Cicero gives us to underſtand, was often emba- 


raſſed in the diſpute with Diodorus : and Plutarch, in his book, 


de repugnantiis Stoicorum, expoſes him for this inconſiſten- 


cy. But Chryſippus choſe to follow his natural feelings, in op- 


poſition to philoſophy ; holding by this, that Diodorus's | 


doctrine of nothing being poſſible but what happens, was 
ignavs ratio, tending to abſolute inaction; cui ſi pareamus, 
as Cicero expreſſes it, nibil omnino agamus in vita. So ear- 


ly were philoſophers ſenſible of the difficulty of reconciling 


ſpeculation with feeling, as ta this doctrine of fate. 


AND NECESSITY. 187 
ourſelves by a ſyſtem of notions quite oppo- 
ſite? Shall we ſacrifice abſtract truth to feel- 
ing? or ſhall we ſtand by truth, and force 
our feelings into compliance? Neither of 
theſe will do. Truth is too rigid to bend 
to mere feeling; and our feelings are inca- 
pable of being forced by ſpeculation. The 
attempt is vain, pugnantia ſecum, frontibus 
adverfis, componere. Let us be honeſt then. 
Let us fairly own, that the truth of things 
is on the ſide of neceſſity ; but that it was 
neceſſary for man to be formed, with ſuch 
feelings and notions of contingency, as would 
fit him for the part he has to act. This 
thought we Muſragon. 


* Deity is the firſt cauſe of all | things 
He formed, in. his infinite mind, the great 
plan or ſcheme, upon which all things were 
to be governed ; and put it in execution, by 
eſtabliſhing certain-laws, both in the natural 
and moral world, which are fixed and im- 
mutable. By virtue of theſe laws, all things 
proceed | in a regular train of cauſes and ef- 


fects, 


3 LIBERTY 
Fes; bringing about thoſe events which are 
eorprehetided in the original plan, and ad- 
imitting the poſſibility of none other. This 
univerſe is a vaſt machine, winded up and 
ft a going. The ſeveral ſprings and wheels 
act unerringly one upon another. The 
| band advatices, and the clock ſtrikes, pre- 
eiſely as the artiſt has determined. Whoe- 
ver has juſt ideas, and a true taſte of philo- 
fophy, will ſee this to be the real theory, of 
the uhiverle; arid that, upon any other the- 
dty, chere cat be no general order, no 
whole, no plan, no means nor end in its 
| adminiſtration. In this pla, man, à ratio- 
nal creature, was to bear his part, and to ful- 
fill certain ends, for which he was deſigned. 
He was to appear as an actor, and to act with 
chnſcidtifneſs and ſpontaneity. He was to 
Exerciſe thought and feaſon, and to receive 
the imptovements of bis nature, by the due 
uſe of theſe rational powers. Conſequently 
it was neceſſary, that he ſhould have ſome 
idea of liberty; ſome feeling of things poſ- 
ſible and contingent, things depending upon 


AND NECESSITY. 265 
himſelf to cauſe, that he might be led to 4 
proper exerciſe of that activity, for which he 
was deſigned: To have had his inſtinctivs 
feelings, his practical ideas, formed upon the 
ſcheme of univerſal neceſſity; to have ſeen 
himſelf a part of that great machine, wind- 
ed up, and ſet a going, by the author of his 
nature, would have been altogether incon- 
gruous to the ends he was to fulfill. Then, 
indeed, the 7gnava ratio, the inactive doc- 
trine of the Stoicks, would have followed. 
Conceiving nothing to be contingent, or de- 
pending upon himſelf to cauſe, there would 
have been no room for fote- thought about 
futurity, nor for any ſort of induſtry and 
care: he would have had no motives to ac- 
tion, but immediate ſenfations of pleaſure 
and pain. He muſt have been formed like 
the brutes, who have no other principle of 
action, but mere inſtinct. The few inſtincts 
he is at preſent endowed with, would have 
been altogether inſufficiettt. He muſt have 
had an inſtin& to ſow, another to reap. He 
Muſt have had inftin&s to purſue every con- 


ve- 


emen re 

veniency, and perform every office of life; 
In ſhort, reaſon and thought could not have 
been ezerciſed in the way they are, that is, 
man could not have been man, had he not 
been furniſhed with a feeling of contingen- 
cy. In this, as in all things elſe, the Di- 
vine Wiſdom and Goodneſs are moſt admi-, 
rable. As, in the natural world, the Al- 
mighty has adapted our ſenſes, not to the 


diſcovery of the intimate nature and eſſen- 


ces of things, but to the uſes and conveni- 
encies of life; as he has, in feveral inſtan- 

ces, \ Exhibited natural objects to us, not in 
their feal, but in a ſort of artificial view, 
clothed with ſuch diſtinctions, and produc- 
ing ſuch ſenſations as are for the benefit of 
man: ſo he has exhibited the intellectual 
world to us, in a like artificial view, clothed 
with certain colours and diſtinctions, ima- 


ginary, but uſeful. Life is conducted ac- 


cording to this artificial view of things, and, 
by out ſpeculations, is not in the leaſt affect- 

ed! Eet the philoſopher meditate in his 
cloſet upon abſtract truth; let lim be ever 
2 8 ſo 


AND NECESSITY. 192 
ſo much convinced of the ſertled; neceflary, - 
train of cauſes and effects, which leaves n- 
thing, properly ſpeaking, in his power; yet, 
the moment he comes forth into the world, 
he acts as a free agent. And, what is won- 
der ful, tho' in this he acts upon a falſe. ſup- 
poſition, yet he is not thereby miſled from 
the ends of action, but, on the contrary, ful- 
fills them, to the beſt advantage. Long ex- 
perience has made him ſenſible, that ſome 
things, ſuch as the ſun's riſing and ſetting, 
depend upon immutable laws. This is 
contradicted by no feeling, as it is no way 
for his benefit; that he ſhould act upon a. 
ny other ſuppoſition, Such things he rec- 
kons upon as neceſſary. But there are other 
things, which depend upon the ſpontaneous 
choices of men, or upon a concurrence of 
natural and moral cauſes, + As to theſe, he 
has not knowledge enough, to foreſee and 
determine. by what law they will happen: 
and his ignorancc of the event, is made to 
have the ſame eſſect upon his mind, as if the 
event were what we ralgar] y call contin- 

| gent. 


_ LIBERTY. 

gent. Its uncertainty as to him produces the 
ame feeling, and ſtirs him up to the fame 
activity, as if it were uncertain in itſelf, and 
had no determined cauſe of i its futurition. 
This feeling then of contingency, and all 
the ideas connected with it, may be treated 
as ſecondary, qualities, which have no rea} 
exiſtence in things; but, like other ſeconda- 
ry qualities, are made to appear as exiſting in 
events, or belonging to them, in order to 
fea: the d bat ig human life. 


| : Same objeRions ſhall be e, after 

Alceuſſng the other branch af the diſquiſi- 
ion concerning liberty of action. Theſe 
- ſubjetts are ſo. cloſely connected, that they 
Cannot fail to throw light upon each other. 


— Contingency i in events is analogous to liber- | 


ee Eee 


| The extent of 1 hes is ax aſ- 
certained,. It conſiſts in ſpontaneity, or act- 


ws according to our inclination and choice. 
It 


AND NECESSITY. 193 
Te may be therefore diſtinguiſhed from con- 
ruin, but muſt not be oppoſed to neceſſi. 
ty; For, as has been fully ſhown, the mind, 
in the moſt calm choice, the moſt deliberate 
action; it neceſſarily, i. e. unavoidably and 
certainly, determined by the prepollent mo- 
ive. When we examine accurately, how 
far our feelings correſpond to this ſyſtem; 
we. ſind; as was hinted before, firſt, that, an- 
tecedent to any. particular action, we gene- 
rally think and reaſon upon the ſcheme of 
neteſſity. In conſidering or gueſſing at fu- 
ture events, we always conclude, that a man 
will act conſiſtently With his chatacter; we 
infer what his actions will be, from the 
knowledge we have of his:temper, and the 
motives that are fitted to influence it; and 
never dream of any man's having a power of 
acting againſt motives. Here we have a ve- 
ry weak freling, if any at all, of liberty, as 
diſtinguiſhed from neceſſity: and wiſely ſo 
ordered, that a clue, as it were, might be 
afforded, to guide us in the labyrinth of fu- 
ture actions, Which, were it not for the con- 
(ad Bb nection 


194 LIBERTY 

nection betwixt an action and its motive, 
would appear like a rope of ſand, looſe and 
unconnected; and no means left af reaſon- 
ing upon, or foreſeeing future actions. It 
is to be obſeryed in the next place, that, dur · 
ing the action, the feeling begins to vaty; 
and, unleſs. in cafes where the motive is ſo 
ſtrong and overbearing, as to approach to 
the nature of conſtraint; unleſs, in theſe, 2 
man has a feeling of liberty, or of a power 
of acting otherways than he is doing But, 
in the third. place, itisprindpally in qeflect· 
ing and paſſing judgment upon a paſt adion, 
that the feeling of liberty is ſenſible and 
ſtrong. Then it ĩs, that our actions are not 
conſidered as proceeding· in a neceſſary una - 
voidable train: but we accuſe and blame o- 
thers, for not having acted the part they migbt 
and ongbt to have acted, and condemn our- 
ſelves, and feel remorſe, for having been guil- 
ty of a vrong we - might bave refrained 
from. The operations of moral conſcience 
plainly proceed upon this ſuppoſition, that 
there is ſuch a power in man of direQing 


s & his 


AND NECESSTTY. 195 
his actions, as rendered it poſſible for the 
perſon accuſed, to have acted a better part. 
This affords an argument, which the advo- 
cates for liberty have urged in its full force, 
aguinſt the doRrirſe of neceſſity. They rea- 
ſon thus: If actions be neceſſary, and not 
in our o] power, and if we know it to be 
fo, what ground can there be for reprehen- 
ſion and blame, for ſelf-condemnation and 
remorſe? If a clock had underſtanding to 
be ſenſible of its own motions, knowing, at 
the ſume time, that they proceed according 
to neceſſary laws, could it find fault with 
itſelf for ſttiking wrong? Would it not 
blame the artiſt, who had ill adjuſted the 
wheels on which its movements depended ? 
So that, upon this ſcheme, ' ſay they, all the 
moral conſtitution of our nature is over- 
turned. There is an end to all the operati- 
ons of conſcienco about right and wrong. 
Man is no longer a moral agent, nor the ſubs - 
* of Fey or blame for what he does. 14 


ei 


196 (LIBERTY 4 
Tunis difficulty is great, and never hat 
been ſurmounted by the; advodates for ne- 
ceflity. - They endeavour to ſurmount it, by 
reconciling feeling to philoſophic truth, in 
the following manner. We are ſo conititut- 
ed, they ſay, that certain affections, and the 
actions which proceed from them, appear o- 
dious and baſe; and others agreeable and 
lovely; that, wherever they are beheld, ei- 
ther in ourſelves or others, the moral ſenſe 
neceſſarily approves of the one, and con- 
demns the other; that this approbation is 
immediate and inſtinctive, without any re- 
flection on the liberty or-neceſſity-of adi. 
ens; that, on the eontrary, the more any 
perſon is under the power of his uffections 
and paſſions; and; by oonſequence, the great · 
er neceſſity he is under, the more virtuous 
or vicious he is eſteem ett 


1064} this account 85 the matter is ls not 65 
fager All that is ere 'faid, is in the 
main e, but is nt the whole truth. 1 
uppeal to any man who has been guilty of a 
bat alen, which gives him uncaſinefs, whe- 

ther 


AND NECESSIT V. 1g 
ther there iscnot ſome what mere in the 
inward feeling than merely a diſlike or 
of the affection, from which 
his action procesded? whether the pat, 
the cruciatus of remorſe, is not founded 
on the notion of a; power he has over his 
will and actions, that he- might have for- 
born to do the ill thing? and whether 
iis not upon this account, chat he is gal 
ed within; angry at himſelf, and eonfeſſ- 
es himſelf to be juſtly blameable? An unea- 
ſineſs fomewhat-of the fame kind, is felt up- 
on the reflection of any fooliſh orraſh aQi- 
on, committed againſt the rules of wiſdom, 
The ſting is indeed much ſharper; and for 
very wile reaſons, when a man has treſpaſſi 
ed againſt the rules of ſtrict morality. Butz 
in both caſes, the uneaſineſs proceeds upon 
the ſuppoſition, that he was free, and had ĩt in 
his power to have acted a better part. This 
indeed is true; ihat to be ſo entirely under 
the power of any bid paſſion, (luſt, for ina 
ſtance, or cruelty) as to be incapable of; ace 
ing otherways than they direct, conlhtites 

a ve- 


398 I. I PR TY 


Avery hateful character. Jadmit, that 4 
tuck ill affectians are naturally, and in them 
clxes iche objects of diſlike and hatred, where- 
cher they are heheld. But. I inſiſt upon ig 
that mere diſlike and hatred, are not the 
whole, but only a part of thermoral feeling, 
The perſon, thus: under the dominion of bad 
paſſions, is accuſed. is condemned, ſingly up- 
on this ground, that it was thro: bre.0wn fault 
de became fo; ſuabjec̃t 1 them; in other 
words, that it was in his power, to have 
kept his mind free from the enſlaving influ- 
ence of corrupt afſections. Were not this 
the caſe, brute. animals might be the objects 
of moral blame, as well as nian. Some 
beaſts are reglepned ſavage and eruel, others 
treacherous.and: falſe: we diſlike, we hate 
orgatures ſo ill. conſtituted: but we do not 
blame. der eqndemn them, as We do rational 
AgEPrs 3, becauſe they are not ſuppoſed 10 
have a ſenſe at right and wrong, nor free- 
dam and power of directing their aftions 20. 
 cording,/to..that inward rule. We muſt 


OW: admit, that the idea of lee. 


AND NECESSTT v. 9h 


of aipower of regulating our will and acti⸗ 
ons üccording to certain rules, is efferitiah 


giverſal neceſſity, abſtracted from this feel- 
ng. tho certain affections and actions might; 
excite our approbation, arid others our dif-: 
like; there could be no place for blame or 
remorſe, All the ideas would entirely: v 
niſh, which at preſent are ſuggeſted by the- 
words ought and u, when applied ons- 
eee Ot 0 6 Hoden 
R T1631 215001 JU 4H4H! £16 leh 
ennie is as WAG UE i 
ral feeling, oppoſed to philoſopfric truth, 4 
nalogous to what is before conſidered. Ic 
is the more remarkable, that it has gicen 
iſe ro thoſe diſputes about Hberty and nes! 
ceſſity; which, have ſubſiſted thro” all ages in 
the inquiring world; which; fince the cab 
keſt accounts of philoſophy, have run thro” 
alt different ſects of philofophers,” 'and have? 


been ingraſted into moſt of the relig ious yk 

tems. We are now able, If imagine, to give” 

a * and ſatisfactory accoumt why the dif- 
* ferent 


to the moral feeling. On the ſyſtem of u- 


4 


mo IL. IBE RTT 
ferent parũes / never could agres; becauſe, in 
tirith, the feli of Hberty, which:we have, 
does not dgtee WH the real fact. Thoſe 
who wert boldleſt In their inquiries, | traced 
cut ihe philofoþhicttruth:! they ſaw that all 
tlñirgr preteddod im a necrſſary train of cau · 
ſeo and bffects, hic. renderd it impoſſible 
for themjno h Der ways thin they did; 
and to thlt ſyſtem they adhered; without 
yielding” to mural feelings. Thoſe again, 
who had not'courage to oppoſe the firſt and 
moſt obvious feelings of their heart, ſtopped 
ſhort; and 2dhefed to liberty. It is obſcry- 
able that the fſide of liberty has always 
bden the moſt popular, and: moſt generally 
embiaced:t and, upon this ſyſtem; all popu- 
_ lar-difeowſes/tind/exhbortatians muſt needs 
proceed. Even thdfe perſons, whoſe: phi- 
loſophital tenets are built upon che ſyſtem 
6b neoeſſity, find themſelves obliged to de- 
ſert that ſyſtem, in popular argument, and to 
adopt the ſtile and language of thoſe; who 
eſpduſe liberty. Among the antients, the 
n of nos þ werethe Stoicks ; 


a ſe- 


AND:NECESSITY. 208 


2 ſevere and rigid ſect, whoſe profeſſed doc- 
trine it was, to ſubdue all our feelings to 
philoſophy. The Platonics, Academics 
and Epicureans, who embraced a ſofter 
| ſcheme of philoſophy, and were more men 
of the world than the Stoics, leaned to the 
fide of liberty. Both parties have their own 
advantages | in reaſoning ; ; and both, when 
puſhed, run into difficulties, from which 
they can never extricate themſelves. The 
advocates for liberty talk with great ad- 
vantage upon the moral powers of man, 
and his character as an accountable being: 
but are at a loſs, how to give any view of the 
univerſe, as a regular pre· adjuſted plan; and 
when urged with the connection betwixt 
the motive and the action, and the neceſſa- 
ry train of cauſes and effects, which reſults 
from admitting it to be a fixed connection, 
they find themſelves greatly embarraſſed. 
Here the patrons of neceſſity triumph. 
They have manifeſtly all the advantages of 
ſpeculative ment; ; whilſt they fail in ac- 
counting for man's moral powers, and ſtruggle 
| | Cc ig 


202 + iLIBERTY! 

in vain to reconcike to their ſyſtem, the te{- 
timony which conſcience _— gives to 
freedom, 


| 3 us has fairly eren. 
ing both theſe claſſes of philoſophers, that 
they were partly in the right, and partly in 
the wrong. They divided, as it were, the 
truth betwixt them. The one had abſtra& 
reaſon on their fide: the other had natu- 
ral feeling. In endeavouring to reconcile 
theſe oppoſites, both parties failed ; and the 
vain attempt has rendered the controverſy 
difficult and perplexed. After having aſ- 
; certained the foundation, upon which the 
doctrine of neceſſity is built, and which 
ſeems incapable of being ſhaken, let us fair- 
ly and candidly take our nature as we find 
it, which will lead us to this concluſion, that 
tho man, in truth, is a neceſſary agent, having 
all his actions determined by fixed and im- 
mutable laws; yet that, this being concealed 
from him, he acts with the conviction of be- 


log a. . It is concealed from him, 
J ſay, 


AND NECESSTT V. 203 
I fay, as to the purpoſes of action: for 
whatever diſcoveries he makes as a philoſo- 
pher, theſe affect not his conduct as a man. 
In principle and ſpeculation, let him be a 
moſt rigid fataliſt; he has nevertheleſs all the 
feelings which would ariſe from power over 
his own actions. He is angry at himſelf 
when he has done wrong. He praiſes and. 
blames juſt like other men: nor can all his 
principles ſet him above the reach of ſelf- 
condemnation and remorſe, when conſci- 
ence at any time {mites him. It is true, that 
a man of this belief, when he is ſeeking to 
makehismind eaſy,after ſome bad action, may 
reaſon upon the principles of neceſſity, that, 
according to the conſtitution of his nature, 
it was impoſſible for him to have acted any 
other part. But this will give him little re- 
lief. In ſpite of all reaſonings, his remorſe 
will ſubſiſt. Nature never intended us to 
act upon this plan; and our natural princi- 
ples are too deeply rooted, to give way to phi- 
loſophy. This caſe is preciſely ſimilar to 
that of contingency. A feeling of liberty, 

; . which 


204 LIBERT T 
which Ino ſcruple not to call deceitful, is 
ſo intetwoven with our nature, that it has 
an equal effect in action, as if we were real. 
| re en — 1 
. ay TD 
NG edits, 40 ful 5 ie 
markable feeling of liberty, and examined, 
aa we went along, ſome arguments againſt 
necoſſity that are founded upon it; we now 
proceed to handle this feeling, as we have 
done that of eontingency, with regard to its 
final cauſe. And in this branch of our na- 
ture are diſplayed the greateſt wiſdom, and 
the greateſt goodneſs: Man muſt be ſo con- 
ſtituted, in order to attain the proper im- 
provement of his nature, in virtue and hap- 
pineſs. Put the caſe, he were entirely di- 
veſted of his preſent ideas of liberty: ſup- 
poſe him to ſee and conceive his own nature, 
ati&the- eonſtitution of things, in the light 
of fri: philoſophic truth; in the fame liglit 
they are beheld by the deity: to conceive him: 
felf, and all his actions, neceſſarily linked into 
the e cauſes und effects, 2 


a ; | Ten- 


AND NECESSITY. 205 


renders the whole order both of the natural 
and moral world unalterably determined in 
every article: ſuppoſe, I ſay, our natural 
feelings, our ptactical ideas to ſuit and tally 
with this, which is the real plan; and what 
would follow? Why, an entire derangement 
of our preſent ſyſtem of action, eſpecially 
with regard to the motives which now lead 
us to virtue. There would ſtill indeed be 
ground for the love of virtue, as the beſt 
conſtitution of nature, and the only ſure 
foundation of happineſs; and, in this view, 
we might be grieved When we found our- 
ſelves deficient in good principles. But this 
would be all. We could feel no in ward 
ſelf. app robation on doing well, no remorſe 
on doing ill; becauſe both the good and the 
ill were neoeſſary and tinavoidable. - There 
would be no more place for applauſe or 
blame among mankind: none of that gene- 
rous indignation we now feel at the bad, as 
perſons who have abuſed and perverted their 
rational powers: no more; notion of ac- 
AGING for the uſe of thoſe powers: no 

ſcnſe 


All theſe ideas, an 


25 EIBE RT 1 
ſeaſe of il deſert, n 
ed to crĩmes as their due; nor of any reward 
metited by worthy and . generous actions. 
d feelings, ſo uſeful to men 
in their moral c vaniſh at once with 
the feeling of liberty: There would be field 
ſor no other paſſions but love and hatred, 
forrow: and pity: and the ſenſe of duty, of 
being obige to certain things which we 
ought. ro perform, muſt be quite extinguiſh- 
ed; for we can have no conception of mo- 
ral -ob/;gation, without ſuppoſing a power in 
eee actions. 

. . moſt fit 8 
ſhould, be endued with a ſenſe of liberty; 


without which, man muſt have been ill qua- 


lied for acting his preſent part. That ar- 
tificial light, in which the feeling of liberty 
preſents the moral world to our view, an- 


ſwets all the good purpoſes of making the 
actions of man entirely dependent upon him- 
ſelf. His happineſs and miſery appear to 
be in his on power. He appears praiſe» 


nene worthy 


AND NECESSITY. 20 


.worthy or culpable, according as he im : 
proves or neglects his rational faculties. 
The idea of his being an accountable crea» 
rure ariſes. Reward ſeems due to merit; 
puniſhment to crimes. | He feels the force 
of moral obligation. In ſhort, new paſſions 
arife, and a variety of new ſprings are ſet in 
motlon, to make way for new exertions of 
reaſon and activity. In all which, tho man 
is really actuated by laws of neceſſary influ - 
ence, yet he ſeems to move. himſelf: and 
whilſt the univerſal ſyſtem is gradually carti- 
ed on to perfection by the firſt mover; that 
powerful hand, which winds up and directs 
the great machine, is never brought into 
ſight. - TEST 1 bird 


Jen. 


Ir will now be proper to anſwer ſome ob- 
jections, which may be urged againſt the 
doctrine we have advanced. One, which at 
firſt, may ſeem of conſiderable weight, is, that 
we found virtue altogether upon a deceitful 
feeling of liberty, which, it may be alledged, 


is neither a ſecure nor an honourable foun- 
dation. 


268 T LIBERTY 


dailon ! But, in. the ſirſt place, I deny that we 
bad founded it altogether upon a deeeitful 


feeling. For, independent of the deceitful 
feeling of liberty, thete is in the nature of 
man a firm foundation for virtue. He muſt 


be ſenſible that virtue is eſſentially prefer- 


able to vice; that it is the juſt order, the 
perfection and happineſs of his nature. For, 
ſuppoſing him only endued with the prin- 


ciple of ſelſ- love; this principle will lead 


bim 10 diſtinguiſh moral good from evit;>ſo 
far as to give ground for loving the one, 


and; hating the other: as he muſt! needs 


ſee that benevolence, juſtice, temperance; 


and the other virtues, are the neceſſary means 
of his happineſs, and that all vice and wic- 


kedneſs introduce diſorder and miſery. But 
man is endued with a ſocial as well as a ſelf- 
ih principle, and has an immediate ſatisfac- 
tion and pleafyre in the happineſs of others, 
which is a further ground for diſtinguiſhing 

and loving virtue. All this, I ſay, takes- 


place, laying aſide the deceitful feeling of 


ST AA lar all our notions to be 
Tate ad- 


AND NECESSITY. 209 
adjuſted. to the ſyſtem of neceſſity. I add, 
that there is nothing in the above doctrine, 
to exclude the perception, of a certain beauty 
and excellency in virtue, according to lord 
Shafteshury and the antient Philoſophers ; 
which may, for ought we know, render it 
lovely and admirable to all rational beings. 
It appears to us, unqueſtionably, under the 
form of intrinſick excellency, even when 
we think not of its tendency to,our happi- 
neſs. Ideas of moral obligation, of remorſe, 
of merit, and all that is connected with this 
way, of thinking, ariſe from, what may be 
called, a wiſe deluſion in our nature concern- 
ing liberty: but, as this affe s only a certain 
modification of our ideas of virtue and vice, 
there is nothing in it, to render the foundati- 
on of virtue, either unſecure or diſhonourable. 
Unſecure it does not render it, becauſe, as 
now obſerved, virtue partly ſtands firm up- 

ona ſeparate foundation, independent of 

| theſe feelings; and, even where built upon 
- theſe feelings, it is ſtill built upon human 
nature. For though theſe feelings of li- 
Dd. berty 


21d IL I BERT 
by u frem the truth of ane they 
are, nevertheleſs, ” dlchtial to the nature 
of man. We act upôn them, and cannot 
a era. Add therefore, cho che dif- 
tinction berwixt virtue ard vice, had rio vthet 
foundation but thefe feelings, (which! is not 
che cle) it Would ſtill have an immoveable 
and ſecure foundation in human nature. As 
for the ſuppoſed diſhonour done to virtue, by 
reſting its authority, in any degree, on a de- 
ceitful feeling, there is fo lktle ground for 
this part of the objection, that, on the con- 
trary, our doctrine moſt highly exalts vir- 
tae.” Por the above deferibed artificial fenfe 
of liberty, is wholly contrived to ſupport 
virtue, and to give its dictates the force of 4 
Rv. Hereby it is difcovered to be, in a fin- 
gular manner, che care of the Deſty; and a 
peculiar fort of glory is thrown around it. 
The Author of nature, his not reſted it, up- 
on tlie ordinary feelings and Principles of 
human nature, as he has reſted our 6thet 
affections and appetites, even theſe which 
are moſt neòeſſary to our exiſtence, But a 
ſort 


ANPNECESSIT V. 271 


ſart of extraordinary machinery is introduc- 
ed for its ſake. Human nature is forced, 
as it were: aut ol its courſe, and made to re- 
geiye 2 nice and artificial ſet of feelings; 

merely that conſcience may have a com- 
manding power, and virtue be ſet as on a 
throne, This could not otherways be 
brought about, but by means of the deceit- 
ful feeling of liberty, which therefore is 3 
greater honour to virtue, a higher recom- 
. mendation of it, than if our conceptions were, 
in every particular, correſſ PORdERtYY the truth 
of things, - | 


A SECOND objeRign which may be urg 

ed againſt our ſyſtem, is, that it ſcems to re- 
preſent the Deity, as acting deceitfully by his 
creatures. He has given them certain ideas 
of contingency in events, and of liberty in 
their own actions, by which he has, in 3 
manner, forced them to act upon 2 falſe hy- 
potheſis; as if he were unable, to carry on 
the government of this world, did his crea- 
tures conceiye things, according to the real 
: truth, 


212 — 4128 E RT Y 


truth. 1 Ts objection is, in a great ER 
obviated, by what we obſerved in the intro- 
dudion to this eſſay, concerning our ſenſible 
ideas, It is univerſally allowed by modern 
Philoſophers, that the perceptions of our ex- 
ternal ſenſes, are not always agreeable to 
ſtrict truth, but fo contrived,” as rather to an- 
ſwer the purpoſes of uſe. Now, if it be 
called a deceit in our ſenſes, not to give us 
juſt repreſentations of the material world, . 
the Deity muſt be the author of this deceit, 
as much as he is, of that which prevails i in 
our moral ideas. But no juſt objection ean 
ly againſt | the conduct of the Deity, in either, 


caſe. Our ſenſes; both internal and exter- 


nal, are given us for different ends and pur- 
poſes; ; fome to diſcover truth, others to 
make us happy and virtuous. The ſenſes 
which are appropriated to the diſcovery of 
truth, unerringly anſwer their end. So do 
the ſenſes, which are appropriated to virtue 
and happineſs. And, in this view, it is no ma- 
terial objection, that the fame ſenſe does not 
 unfyer both ends, As to the other part of 
the 


218 8 


AND NECESSTTY. 413 
the objeclion, that it muſt imply imperfe&ti- | 
on in the Deity, if he cannot eſtabliſh virtue 
but upon a deluſive foundation; we may be 
fatisfied how fallacious this reaſoning i is, by 
reflecting upon the numberleſs appearances, 
of moral evil and diſorder in this world; 
From theſe appearances, much more ſtrong. 
ly, were there any force in' this reaſoning, 
might we infer imperfection in the Deity; | 
ſeeing the ſtate of this world, in many par- 


ticulars, does not anſwer the notions we are 


apt to form, of ſupreme power conducted by 
perfect wiſdom and goodneſs. But, in truth, 
there is nothing in our doctrine, which can 
juſtly argue imperfection in the Deity. For 
it is abundantly plain, firſt, that it is a more 
perfect ſtate of things, and more worthy of . 
the Deity, to have all events going on with 
ynbroken otder, i in a fixed train of cauſes and 
elſcets; than to have every thing deſultory 
"and contingent. And, if ſuch a being as 
man, was to be placed in this world, to act 
hls preſent part; it was neceſſary, that he 
ſhould have a notion of contingency in e- 
vents, 


-—_ 


214 © LIBERTY. 
vents, and of liberty in his own actions. The 
ohjection therefore, on the whole, amoynts 
to no more, than that the Deity cannot work 
contradictions. For, if it was fit and wiſe, 
that man ſhould think and act, as a free agent, 
it was impoſſible this could be otherways 
accompliſhed, than by endowing him with a 
ſenſe of liberty: and if it was alſo fit and 
wiſe, that yniyerſal neceſſity ſhould be the 
real plan of the vniyerſe, this ſenſe of liber- 
Y. could be no other chan a deceitful one. 


A8 OTHER objedtion may perhaps be raif- 
&d; againſt us in this form, If it was neceſſa- 
ry: 22 man to be conſtituted, with ſuch an 
artificial feeling, why was he endowed with 
fo much knowledge, as to ynravel the myſ- 
tery? What purpoſe does it ſerve, to lef in 
| juſt { fo much light, as to diſcover the diguif- 
ed appearance of the moral world, when it 
was intended, that his conduct ſhould be ad- 
juſtedd to this diſguiſed appearance? 'To this, 
Tanſwer, firſt, that the diſcovery,when' wade, | 
 catinot poſſibly be ** any bad conſequence; 
; and 


AND NECESSITY. 275 


arid next, that a. good conſequence, of 
great importance, reſults from it. No bad 
conſequence, I fay, enſues from the diſcove- 
ty, that Hberty and contingency are deceit- 
Ful feelings ; for the caſe is eonfeſſedly pa- 
ralld in the natural world, where no harm 
has enſued. Aſter we have diſcovered, by 
phitoſophy, that ſeveral of the appearances of 
wature; are only uſeful Muſidns, that ſeconda- 
ry qualities exift not in matter, and tfiat our 
fenrſible ideas, in various friſtandes, d6 not 
correſpond to philofophic truth; after theſe 
dfcoveries are thade, do they, in the leaſt, 
affect eren the philoſopher himſelf in ordi- 
nary action? Does not he, in common with 
the reſt 'of mankind, proceed, as it is Bt 
he fhould, upon the common ſyſtem of ap- 
pearances and natural feeſings ?. As little, in 
the preſent caſe, do our ſpeculations 2bout 
liberty and neceſſity, countera@ the plan ef 
nature. Upon the fyſtem of liberty we do, 
and muſt act: and no diſcoveries, made con- 
n the illuſive nature of that feeling, are 

capable 


3 


216 LIBERTY 


eber diſappointing, in any * the 
: intention 97 ths . a a 


* ſors this f is not al. Theſe Fiſcoverie 
are alſo of excellent uſe, as they furniſh us 
with one of the ſtrongeſt arguments, for the 
_ exiſtence. of the Deity, and as they ſet the 
wiſdom and goodneſs of his providence, in 
the moſt ſtriking light. Nothing carries in 
it more expreſs characters of deſign ; nothing 
can. be conceived more oppoſite. to chance, 

_ thawa plan ſo artfully contrived, for adjuſt- 
ing our' impreſſions and feelings to the pur- 
poſes of life. For here things are carried off, 
as ĩt were, from the ſtraight line; taken out 
of the courſe, in which they would of them- | 
ſelves proceed ; and ſo moulded, as forcibly, 
and againſt their nature, to be ſubſervient to 
man. His mind does not receive the impreſ- 
| fion of the moral world, in the ſame man- 
ner, as wax receives the impreſſion of a ſeal. 
It does not reflect the image of it, in the 
ame manner, as a mirror reflects its images: 
it has a peculiar caſt and turn given to its 


AND NECESSITY. 27 
conceptions, admirably ordered to exalt vir- 
tue, to the higheſt pixch.” Theſe concepti- 
ons are indeed illuſive, yet, which is wonder- 
ful, it is by this very' circumſtance, that, in 
man, too of the moſt oppoſite things in na- 
ture, are happily reconciled, liberty and nece{- 
ſity; having this illuſtrious effect, chat in 


bim are actnmulated, all the prerogatives 


both of a neceſſary and free agent. The 
diſcovery of ſuch a marvelous adjuſtment; 
which is more directly oppoſed to chance; 
than any other thing -conceiveable, muſt 
neceſſarlly give us the ſtrongeſt impreſſi- 
on of a wiſe deſigning cauſe. And now - 
a ſufficient reaſon appears, for ſuffering man 
to make this ſurpriſing diſcovery. The Al- 
mighty has let us ſo far into his councils, as 
to afford the juſteſt foundation, for admiring 
and adoring his wiſdom. It is a-remark wor- 
thy to be made, that the capacities of man 
ſeem, in general, to have a tendency beyond 
the wants and occaſions of his preſent ſtate. 
This has been often obſerved with reſpe& 
to bis wiſhes and deſires. The fame holds 

E e as 


218 LIBERTY 


-as to his intellectual faculties, which, fome- 
times, as in the inſtance before us, run be- 
Fond the limits of what is ſtrictly neceſſary 
for him to know, in bis preſent circuraſtan- 
Ces, and let in upon him ſome glimmerings 

of higher and nobler diſcoveries; A veil is 
throw over nature, where it is not uſeful 
for him to behold it. And yet, ſometimes, 
by turning aſide that, veil a very little, he is 
admitted to a fuller view; that his admiration 
of nature, and the God of nature, may be 
increaſed; that his curioſity: and love of 


truth may be fed; and, perhaps, that ſome 


 augurium; ſome intimation, may de given, of 
his being deſigned for a future, more exalt- 
eld period of being ; when attaining the full 
maturity of his nature, he ſhall no longer 
ſtand in need of artificial impreſſions,” but 
ene 
. n o mn p 


+4 +* ** . 10 : 
” 1 - * 
- i | l * 
- * a 
Ay 4 . . 4 1 * . 
— ; 417 TE ; 11 2 
* " 5 s * x 
1 5 * , *. 
py PA mr. 4 | . 
* i i : > * 4a « * 5 a P T £ 7 . 
. 4 * 4 
, * 8 _ * 8 * . - 
4 . 
* 


E 8 S A YS 


fd THE 


PRINCIPLES of MokALrrr 
A ND 


NATURAL rue 


PART II. 


0 en © * 
1 HM 


> % zelt: : 
E 8 8. A Y I. 5411 wech ) 
BEE. 


YEL Er is a term ſo familiar, af to have 
eſcaped the inquiry of all philoſophers; 
except the author of the treatiſe of Buman 
nature. And yet the ſubje&'is, by nio means, 
ſs plain a as to admit of no "tubes nor' dtfieul- 
ties. This aythor has made two proji6fitibns! 
ſufficiently evident; firſt, that belief ix" not 
any ſeparate action of perception of the mind, 
but a modification of our perception, or 4 
cettain manner of conceivirg propoſitions. 
2d; That it does not accompany every 
one of our perceptions.” A man, in ſome 
circumſtances, ſees" objects double, but lie 
ddes not believe them tò be dbuble. He can 
form the idea of a golden mountain: he can 
fbrtn the Idea of it, as of a 5 | 
as exiſting in a certain place; but he d 
dot believe it to be exiſting, l 
2 
Haviwo: proved thee belief is ri6t'a' ſes 


paris perception, but only-a- modifications 
af 


— 


of ſome perceptions, « our author goes on to 
explain the nature of chis modification. And 
his doctrine is, that belief making no altera- 
tion upon the idea, as to its parts and compo- 
ſition, muſt conſiſt in the lively manner of 
conceiving the idea ; ; and that, in reality, a 

Lively idea and belief are the ſame.. I have 
2 high opinion of this author's acuteneſs and 
penetration; but no authority can prevail 
with me to embrace ſuch a doctrine. For, at 
this rate, eredulity and a lively imagination 
| would be always connected, which does not 
hold in fact. Poetry and painting produce 
hvely ideas, but they ſeldom produce belief. 
For my part, I have no difficulty to form 28 
lively a conception of Cefar's dying in his 
bed, deſcanting upon the vanity of ambition, 
or dictating rules af government to his ſuc- | 
ceſlor, as of his being put to death in the 
ſenate-houſe. Nothing is told with more 
vivacity, than the death of Cyrus, in a pitch- 
ed battle with the queen of the Scythians, 
who dipped his head, as we are told, in a 
veſſel full of blood, ſaying, * Satiate thyſelt 


10 with 


+7 


OF BELIEF. 223 
«: with blood, of which thou waſt ever thir- 
| 40 ſty. 14 Let, upon comparing circumſtan- 
ces and authors, the more + xiv opinion 
is, that. been died in his bed. woot 


I. may bs obſerved, at the FOR time, aur 
| as concluſion is very lame, which this author 
' draws from his premiſes. Belief makes no 
alteration upon the idea, as to its parts and 
compoſition. It can only therefore conſiſt 
in a modification of the idea. But does it 
follow, that it conſiſts in a lively concepti- 
tion of the idea, which is but one of many 
modifications ?. There is not here! the ſha-. 
| 6 TILE f/f 0 4 
{Quin a0 indeed urges, that true hiſto- / 
ry takes faſt hold of the mind, and preſents 
its objects in a more lively manner, than any 
fabulous narration can do. Every man muſt 
judge for himſelf: I cannot admit this to 
be my caſe. Hiſtory, no doubt, takes faſt- '- 

| er hold of the mind, than any fiction told 
in ow plain hiſtorical ſtile. But can any 


man 


OF BELIE F. 

man doubt, who has not an bypotheſis to de- 

= feelings, attend the celebrated Garrick in che 
character of Richard, or in that of king Le- 

WM; bnd ae ir repre- 

ons, Which kit fadom x comes Xp 


Düne 


DE nn is Po e 


ene ü it dell be Coppola; that 
hiſtory preſents its objects in a moro lively 
manner, than can be done by dramatic or 
5) it will not therefore follow, 
that a livelꝝ idea is the ſame with belief! 1 
read a paſſage in Virgil. Let it be the epiſode 
of Niſus and Euryalus, I read a paſſage in Li- 
Y, ei. the ſacking of Rome by the- Gauls. 
IH IL have a more lively: idea of. the latter ſto- 
cauſe of this effect. He ſurely will not af- 
ham, that it. is: the force: of expreſſion, or 
barmony. of. numbers: for, in theſe parti- 
culars, the hiſtorian: cannot be compared ta 
| VO” It is evident, that no:other ſatiſ⸗ 
8 factory 


OF BELIEF. 225 
factory account of the matter can be given, 
but this, that Livy's ſuperior influence up- 
on the imagination, is the effect of his being 
conſidered, as a true hiſtorian; The moſt, 
then, that our author can make of his obſer- 
vation, ſuppoſing it to hold true in fact, is, 
chat the authority of the hiſtorian produces 
belief, and that belief produces a more live- 
ly idea, than any fabulous narration can do. 
The truth of the matter is, that belief and a 
lively conception, are really two diſtin modi- 
fications of the idea ; which, tho' often con- 

Joined, are not only ſeparable in the imagie 
nation, but in fact are often ſeparated, 
Truth, indeed, beſtows a certain degree of 
vivacity upon our ideas. At the ſame time, 
J cannot admit, that hiſtory exceeds drama- 
ũ c or epic poetry, in conveying a lively con- 
ception of facts; becauſe it appears evident, 
that, in works of imagination, the want of 
truth, is more than ren by d 
ment and language. 


Ff SOME» 


226 OP BE LIE F. 
SoM TMB, indeed, belief is the reſult of 
2 lively impreſſion. A dramatic repreſenta- 

tion is one inſtance, when it affe&s us ſo 
| — 446 to draw off the attention from eve- 
ry other objeR; and even from ourſelves. In 
this fituatiom we. dot conſider the actor, 
but conceive him to be the very man whoſe 
chatacter he aſſume We have that very 
man befbre our eyes. We pereeive kim as 
exiſting: and acting, and believe him to be 
exiſting and acting. This belief, however, 
is but momentary. Fr vaniſhes, ike a dream, 
ſo ſ60n'2s ve are routed by any trivial Urs 
cumſtance, to a conſciotiſnels of ourſthyes, 
and of che place we are in.) Nor is the tive- 
Iy impreſſion, even in this cafe, the cauſe of 
belief, but only the occafion of it, by di- 
verting the attention of the mind, from it- 
felf and its ſituation. It is in ſome fach 
manner, tliat the idea of a ſpectre in the 
dark, whieh- Els the- mind, and diverts it 
from itſelf, is, by the force of imagination, 
| converted 3 into a reality. We think we fee 

| and 


OF BELIER, 227 
and. hear it. We are convinced of it, and 
believe the matter to be ſo. vaſes 


"Ry JxcT1 NG chanefore this authar Gary 
nion, the real truth appears to be this. There 
is a certain peculiar manner of perceiving 
objects, and conceiving propoſitions, which, 
being a {ample feeling, cannot be deſcribed, 
but is expreſſed by the word belief. The 
cauſes of this modification, termed belief, 
are. the authority of my own, ſenſes, and 
the authority of others, who either relate 
facts upon the authority of their ſenſes, or 
what they have heard at ſecond or third 
hand. So that belief, mediately or immedi- 
atcly, is founded upon the authority of our 
ſenſes. We are ſo conſtituted by. nature, as 
to, put truſt in our ſenſes; Nor, in general, 
is it in our power to disbelieve our ſenſes: 
they have authority with us irreſiſtible. 
There is but one exception that I can think 
of. Finding, by. experience, that we have 
been ſometimes led into an error, by truſt- 

ing ſome particular perceptions, the remem- 

| brance 


3 
| 
| 
| 
| 


228 OF BELIEF. 


brence of theſe inſtances, counter- balances 
the authority of our perception in the like 
caſes, and either keeps the mind ſuſpended, 
or, perhaps, makes it reſt in a convictlon, 11 
* een 18 erroneous. 9 1 A 


= 
£5 


"Wren ts to che evidence of my on 
Cantos; tho' I cannot admit, that the eſſence 
of belief conſiſts in the vivacity of the im- 
preſſion, 1 f6 far agree with our author, 
that vivaclity and belief, in this caſe, ate al- 
ways conjoined, | A mountain I have once 


| ſeen, 1 believe to be exiſting, tho I am a 


thouſand miles from it ; and the image or 
idea T have of that mountain, is more lively 


and more diſtin&, than of any I can form 


merely by the force of imagination. But 


this is far from-being the cafe, as above ob- 


ſerved, of ideas raiſed in 180 eu 15 the 


forge of hnguagee, © /| 


nen lh dom thi as do of o-· 
dit, reſts upon a different foundation. Ve- 


_ and a diſpoſitian to believe, are corre 
6 ſpond· 


OF 'B'iELIEF. 229 
ſponding principles in the nature of man; 
and, in the main; theſe principles are ſo adi 
juſted, that men are not often deceived. The 
diſpoſition we have to believe, is qualified 
by the opinlon we have of the witneſs, and 
the nature of the ſtory he relates. But, ſup- 
poſing a coneurrence of all other cireum- 
ſtances to prompt our belief, yet, if the ſpeak- 
er pretends only to amuſe, without confining 
himſelf to truth, his narration will not, in 
the ſmalleſt degree, prompt our belief; let 
him enliven it with the n 4 colours 


r eh —_— _ TG Ii DIVES 


int: F 9! 


om "HAVE buy roads; that We on 
Mie and the teſtimony of others, are the 
proper cauſes of belief; yet that theſe cauſes 
are more or leſs efficatious, according to the 
temper of mind we are in at the time. Hope 
and fear aro influenced by paſſion, ſo is belief. 
Hope and fear are modifications of our con- 
ception of future events. If the eventbe agree- 
able, and the probability of its exiſtence, be 
great, our conception af its exiftence takes 
| on 


880 O F BE LIE F. 
on a modification, which is called hope. If 
the event be extremely agrecable, and the 
probability of its exiſting do greatly pre- 
ponderate, our hope 1s increaſed proportion- 
ally, and ſometimes is conyerted into a firm 
belief, that it will really happen. Upon 
weak minds, the delightfulneſs of the ex- 
pected event, will of itſelf have that effect. 
The imagination, fired with the proſpet, 
avgmeats the probability, till it convert it 
40 4 fim perſuaſion. or belief. On the other 
Hand, if fear get the aſcendent, by a con- 
ceived improbability of the exiſtence of the 
event, the mind deſponds, and fear is con- 
vetzed into a firm. belicf, that the event will 
not happen. The operations of the mind 
Ale. quite e here We view 


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AD we no original eee 

thoſe of the external ſenſes, accord 
ig the author of the treatiſe of human 
nature, we never could have any conſeiouſ- 
neſs of „er; becauſe ſuch conſcibuſneſs tans 
not ariſe from any external Tenſe.” Man- 
kind would be in # perpetual reverte; | ideas 
would be conſtantly floating” in the mind; 


and no man be able to connect his ideas with 


himſelf. Neither could there be any iden of 
perſonal i identity. For a man, cannot conſ 
der himſelf to be the ſame porſon, in different 


circumſtances, when he has 014 on con. | 


ſciouſ neſs * Lance at all. n Veh 


irn "oe 10 


Dutubs you may be, who are thus con- 


ſtituted: but man is none of theſe beings! 


It is an undoubted truth, that he has an 04 
riginal feeling, or conſciouſneſs of himſelf, 
and 


2 Ba "2 


_ FF » wa 222 — 
< — — 1 — —— Awe — 
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| the mind through its ideas, hos u 


232 PERSONAL IDENTITY, 


and of his exiſtence; which, for the moſt 
part, accompanies every one of his impreſſi- 
ons and ideas, and every action of his mind 
and body. I fay, for the moſt part; for 
the faculty or internal ſenſe, which is the 
cauſe of this peculiar. perception, is not al 
ways. in action. In a dead ſleep, we have ne 
conſciouſneſs of ſelf, We dream ſometimes 
Without this conſciouſneſs : and even ſome 
of our waking hours paſs without is. A 
reverie is nothing elſe, but a wandering of 


along on „ GAA feu 


771 9927 
y 


Tuts — e ol; fait 
15 at the ſame time, of the livelieſt kind. 


Self-preſervation is every one's peculiar du- 


ty; and the vivacity of this pereeption, is ne- 


ceſſary to make us attentive to our own in- 
tereſt, and, particularly, to ſhun every appear- 
ance of danger. When a man is in à reve- 
rie, he has no circumſpection, nor any man- 
net of attention to his own intereſt. 


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PERSONAL IDENTITY. 233 
Tis remarkable, that one has ſearce any 
chande to fall afleep, All this perception | 
vaniſh; Its vivitity keeps” the mind in 
2 certain degree of | agitation,” which bars 
ſleep.” A fall of water diſpoſes to fleep. It 
fixes che attention, both by ſound and ſight, 
and, without creating much agitation, occu- 
pies the mind, ſo as to make it forget itſelf. 
n ſows books has —_ enn 


** isthis egen or conſciouſnel of 
ſelf, catried through all the different ſta- 
ges of life, and all the variety of action, 
which is the foundation of perſonal identity. 
It is, by means of this perception, that I 
conſider myſelf to be the ſame perſon, in all 
varieties of e and n 1e of 
RR LS T1 


7 4 


Taz main mals aste ee e is 


to introduce an obſervation, that it is not by 


any argument or reaſoning, I conclude my- 
{elf to be the ſame peiſon, Iwas ten years ago 


wo concluſion reſts entirely upon the feeling 
+69 Gg of 


* enden 3 mann -me abt 
-all my changes, and which is the only con- 
| | netting principle, that binds together, all the 
various thoughts and actions of my life. 
Far leſs is it by any argument, or chain of 
reaſoning; that I.diſcoyer my own exiſtence. 
Ir would be ſtrange. indeed, if every man 's 
exiſtence, was kept a ſecret from him, till the 
celebrated} argument was invented, chat cr 
gito ergo ſum. And if a fact, that, to com- 
mon underſtanding, appears ſelf-evident, is 
not to be relied on without an argument; 
why ſhould I take for granted, without-an 
argument, that I think, mote than that I 
exiſt? For ſurely I ata not more dee 


of thinking. han af exibiog,. 


"How this ſubject, 1 ſhall juſt faggeſt a 
thought, which will be more fully inſiſted 
n | afterwards; that any doctrine, which 
eads to a diſtruſt of our ſenſes, muſt land in 
univerſal ſcepticiſm. If natural feelings, 
whether from internal or external ſenſes, 
are not admitted as evidence of truth, I can- 
7 ö not 


PERSONAL IDbENTIT V. 235 
not ſee, that we can be certain of any fact 
whatever. It is clear, from what is now ob- 
ſerved, that, upon this ſceptical ſyſtem,weean- 
not be certain even of our own exiſtence ®, 


I 


2 —— = — 


* The deceitful feeling of liberty, unfolded in the eſſay 
upon liberty and neceſſity, may perhaps embarraſs ſome 
readers, as in ſome meaſure contradiQory to the poſition 
here laid down, But the matter is eaſily cleared. Natural 
feelings are ſatisfying evidence of truth; and, in ſact, have 
full authority over us, unleſs in ſome ſingular caſes, where 
we are admoniſhed by counter-feelings, or by reaſoning, 
not to- give implicit truſt, This is a ſufficient foundation 
for all the arguments, that are built upon the authority of 
our ſenſes, in point of evidence. The feeling of liberty 
is a very ſingular caſe, The reaſons are clearly traced for 
the neceſſity of this deluſive feeling, which diſtinguiſhes it * 
in a very particular manner, and leaves no room, to draw 
any conſequence from it, to our other feelings. But there 
is, beſides, a circumſtance yet more diſtinguiſhing, in this 
deluſive feeling of liberty, which entirely exempts it, from 
being an exception to the general rule above laid down, It 
is this; that the feeling is by no means. entire on the fide 
of liberty. It is counter · balanced by other feelings, which, 
in many inſtances, afford ſuch a conviction of the neceſſary 
influence of motives, that phyſical and moral neceſlity can 
ſcarce be diſtinguiſhed. The ſenſe of liberty operates chiefly 
in the after reflection. But, previous to the action, there is 
no diſtin& or clear feeling, that it can happen atherways, 
than in connection with its proper motive, Here the feel- 
ings being, on the whole, oppoſite to each other, nothing 


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236 IDEA OF SEL, &. 


can'be inferred from this caſe, to derogate from dhe cri; 
dence of eclings that are clear, cogent and authoritative ; 


and to whi ; bthtrig can be oppdled, from the fide of rea- 
ſon or counter · feelings. 80 that our principle remains ſafe 


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ESSAY Ill. 


8 4 1 5 0 


Of the Annes of ur. SENSES... 


I 2 former eſſay are pointed out ſonic in- 

ſtances, in which our ſenſes may be call- 
ed deceitful v. They are of two ſorts. One 
is, when the deception is occafioned* by in- 
diſpoſition of the'organ, remoteneſs of place, 
groſſnefs of the medium, of the like ; which 
diſtort the appearances of objects, and make 
them be ſeen double, or greater or leſs, than 
they really are. In ſuch inſtances, the per- 
ception is always faint, obſcure or 'confuf- 
ed: and they noway invalidate the authoriz 
ty of the ſenſes, in general, when, abſtraQ- 
ing from ſuch accidental obſtructions, the 
perception 1s lively, ſtrong and diſtin. In 
the other fort, there is a deception eſtabliſh- 
ed by the laws of nature; as in the caſe of 
ſecondary qualities, taken notice of in that 
eſſay ; whence'it was inferred, that nature 
does not always give us ſuch correct per- 
ceptions, as correſpond to the philoſophic 
| truth 


237 


Eſſay upon liberty and i 


238 AUTHORITYOF 
truth of things. Notwithſtanding of which, 


the teſtimony of our ſenſes ſtill remains, as a 
ſufficient ground of confidende and truſt. For, 
in all theſe caſes, where there is. this ſort of 
eſtabliſhed deception, nature furniſhes means 
for coming at the truth. As in this very in- 
flance of ſecondary qualities, philoſophy, ca- 
ſily corrects the falſe appearances, and teach- 
es us, that they are rather to be conſidered, 
as impreſſions made upon the mind, than as 
qualities of the object. A remedy being thus 
provided to the deception, our belief, ſo far 
as it can be influenced by reaſon, is the more 
confirmed, with regard to our other ſenſati- 
ons, where there is no appcarance of illuſi- 
on. But this is not the whole of the matter. 
When any ſenſe preſents to our view, an ap- 
pearance that may be called deceitful, we 
plainly diſcover ſome uſeful. purpoſe intend; 
ed. The deecit is not the effect of an im- 
perfect or arbitrary conſtitution; but wiſely 
contrived, to give us ſuch notice of things, as 
may beſt ſuit the purpoſes of life. From this 
very conſideration, we are the more confirm- 
11 0d 


O DURSENS ES. 23 


ed in the veracity of nature. Particular in- 
ſtances, in which, our ſenſes are accommo- 
dated to the uſſ of life, rather than to the 
ſtrictneſs of truth, are rational exceptions, 
which ſerve, the more firmly, to eſtabliſh the 
general rule. And, indeed, When we have 
nothing but our ſenſes to direct our conduct, 
with regard to external objects, it would be 
ſtrange; if there ſnould be any juſt ground, 
for a] general diſtruſt of them. But there is 
no ſuch thing. There is nothing to which 
all mankind, are more noceſſarily determin- 
ed, than toi put confidente in their ſeiiſes. 
We entertain na doubt ob their authority, bes 
cauſe we are'ſo-conſtituted; that it is not in 
our n Suk i %% 104 n 


I 


bb hs N of uri ſenſes? is tal 
founded on the neceſſity of our nature; and 
confirmed. by conſtant experience, it cannot 
but appear ſtrange, that it ſhould-come into 


the thought, of any man to call it in queſti- 
on. But the influence of novelty is great; 


and when a bold genius, in ſpite of common 
| ſenſe, 


— — — — —— nn... 7˙—˙¾ — — 
—— — _—_ 


2 AUT HORIT YO 
ſenſe, and common feelings, will ſtrike out 
new. parhs to himſelf, tis not eaſy to foreſee, 
o Far his airy metaphyffbal notions. may 
carry him. A late author, who gives us a 
treatiſe concerning the: principles of human 
knowledge,” by denying the reality of ex- 
tertial objects, ſtrikes at the root of the au- 
thority of dur ſemſes, and thereby paves the 
way to the moſt inveterate ſcepticiſm. For 
what reliance· can we have upon our ſenſes, 
if chey deceive us in a point ſo material? If 
ve can be; prevailed upon, to doubt of the 
reality of external objects, the; next ſtep will 
be; to doubt of what paſſes in our own 
minds, of the reality of our ideas and per- 
ceptions. For we have not à ſtronger con- 
ſciouſneſs, nor a clearer conviction of the 
one; than of the other. And the laſt ſtep 
will be, to doubt of our own exiſtence; for 
it is ſhown in the eſſay immediately forego- 
ing, that we have no certainty of this fact, 
but what depends upon ſenſe and feeling. 


* 


OURSENSES. 24 

I is reported, that doctor Berkeley, the 
author of the abovementioned treatiſe, Was 
moved to adopt this whimſical opinion, to 
get free of ſome arguments, urged by materi- 
aliſts againſt the exiſtence of the Deity. If 
ſo, he has been unhappy in his experiment ; 
for this doctrine, if it ſhould not lead to u- 
niverſal ſcepticiſm, affords, at leaſt, a ſhrewd 
argument in favours of Atheiſm. If I can 
only be conſcious of what paſſes in my own 
mind, and if I cannot truſt my-ſenſes, when 
they give me notice of external and indepen- 
dent exiſtences; it follows, that I am the of 
being in the world; at leaft, that! can have 
no evidence from my ſenſes, of any other 
being, body or ſpirit. This i is certainly an un- 
wary conceſſion ; becauſe it deprives us of 
our principal, or only, inlet to the knowledge 
of the Deity. Laying aſide ſenſe and feel- 
ing, this learned divine will find it a difficult 
task, to Point out by what other means it is, 
that we make the diſcovety of the above im- 
portant truth. But of this more afterwards. 


= „ 


242 AUTHORITY OF 


Wx there nothing elſe in view, but to 
eſtabliſh the reality of external objects, it 
would be ſcarce worth while, to beſtow much 
thought, in ſolving metaphyſical paradoxes 
. againſt their exiſtence, which are better con- 
futed by common ſenſe and experience. But, 
as the above doctrine appears to have very 
extenſive conſequences, and to ſtrike at the 
root of the moſt valuable branches of hum- 
an knowledge; an attempt to re-eſtabliſh the 
authority of our ſenſes, by detecting the fal- 
lacy of the arguments that have been urged 
againſt j it, may, it is hoped, not be unaccept- 
able. to the public, The attempt, at any 
tate, is neceſſary i in this work, the main pur- 
poſe of which is, to ſhow that our ſenſes, ex- 
ternal and internal, are the true ſources, from 
whence the ns of the di is de- 
_ rived: to us. 


. * EE Ya to afford ſaisfation upon a ſub- 
ject, which is eaſier felt. than expreſt, it will 
be proper, to give a diſtinct analyſis of the o- 
perations of thoſe ſenſes, by which we per- 
21 ceive 


" OUR SENSES. 243 


ceire external objects. And, if this be once 
clearly apprehended, it will not be a matter 
of difficulty, to anſwer the ſeveral objections, 
which have been urged againſt their exiſt- 


ence. 


Tux impreſſions of the external fenſes 
are of different kinds. Some we have at the 
organs of ſenſe, ſuch as ſmelling, taſting, 
touching. Some are made upon us as from a 
diſtance, ſuch as hearing and ſeeing. From 
the ſenſe of feeling, are derived the impreſſi- 
ons of body, ſolidity and external exiſtence. 
Laying my hand upon this table, I perceive a 
thing ſmooth and hard, preſſing upon my 
hand, and which is perceived as more diſtant 
from me, than my hand is. From the ſight, 
we have the impreſſions of motion and of co- 
lour; and from the ſight as well as from the 
touch, thoſe of extenſion and figure. But 
it is more material to obſerve, upon the 
preſent ſubject, that from ſight as well as 
an, we have the impreſſion of things 
as 


* 


244 AUTHORITYQF 


as having an independent and ee or 
| r exiſtence, | f 


Le us Sees to * this made, 
cation of independency and permanent ex- 
iſtence of the objects of ſight and touch, for 


it is a cardinal point. To begin with the 
objects of light. I. caſt my eye upon a 
tree, and pexceive colour, figure, extention, 
| and ſometimes motion. If this be a com- 
plete analyſis of the perception, ſubſtance is 


| pot diſcoverable by ſigbt. But upon, atten- 


tively: examining this. perception, to try it 
there be any thing more in it, I find one cir- 
eumſtance omitted, that the above particulars, 
are not perceived as ſo many ſeparate exiſt- 
ences, having no relation to each other, but 
as cloſely united and connected. When look» 
ing around on different objects, I perccive 
colout in one quarter, motion in a; ſecond, 
and extenſion in a third; the appearance theſe 
make in my mind; are in nothing ſimilar to 
the impteſſion made by a tree, where the 
extenſion, motion, and other qualities, are 

| iatroduced 


: OUR SENSES. 245 


introduced into the mind, under the modi- 
fication of an intimate connection and uni- 
on. But in what manner are they united 
and connected? Of this, every perſon. can 


inhering in, or belonging to ſome ſubſtance or 
thing, of which they are qualities; and that, 
by their reference to this ſubſtance or thing, 
they are thus cloſely united and connected. 
Thus it is, that the impreſſion of ſulſtance, as 
well as of qualities, is derived from ſight. And 
it is alſo to be attended to, as a part of the 
total impreſſion, that as the qualities appear 
to belong to their ſubſtance, and to inhere 
in it, ſo both the ſubſtance and its qualities, 
which we call the tree, are perceived as al- 
together independent of us, as really exiſt- 
ng, and as ths a permanent exiſtence. 


-Aq SIMILAR de ts n upon 1 us, 
by means of the ſenſe of feeling. It is ob- 
ſerved above, that, from the touch, we have 
the impreſſions, of body, ſolidity and exter- 


give an account, that they are perceived as 


— —ͥ— — 


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— — — — — — — — — 
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246 AUTHORITY OF 
nal exiſtence; and we have, from the ſame 
ſenſe; the impreſſions of ſoftneſs and hard- 
neſs, ſmoothneſs and roughneſs. '' Now, 
when J lay my hand upon this table, I have 
an impreſſion, not only of ſmoothneſs, hard- 
neſs, figure and extenſion, but alſo of a 
_ thing I call boch, of which the above are per- 
ceived as qualities. Smoothneſs, hardneſs, 
extenſion and figure are felt, not as ſeparate 
and unconnected exiſtences, but as inher- 
ing in and belonging to ſomething I call bo- 
dy; which is really exiſting, and which has 
an independent and permanent exiſtence. 
And it is this body, with its ſeveral n 

| whichy 1 wen by the word * 


Tr e n of the W 
of ſight and touch, will be beſt illuſtrated, 
by a compariſon with the impreſſions made 
by che other ſenſes. I hear à ſound, or 1 
feel a ſmell. Attending to theſe impreſſi- 
ons, I perceive nothing but ſound or ſmell. 
They are not perceived as the qualities or 
properties of any * thing or ſubſtance. 

ö They 


OUR SENSES... 247 
They make their appearance in the mind as 
{imple exiſtences; and there is no impreſſi- 
on made of independency, or. permanent 
exiſtence. . Did ſeeing and feeling carry us 
no further, we never could have the leaſt 
conception of ſubſtance. .  _ bobs 


*T1s not a little ſurpriſing, that philoſo- 
phers, who diſcourſe ſo currently of qualities, 
ſhould affect ſo much doubt and heſitation a- 
bout ſabſtance; lecing theſe are relative ideas, 
and imply each other. For what other rea- 
ſon do we call figure a quality, but that we 
perceive it, not as a ſeparate exiſtence, but as 
belonging to ſomething that is figured; and 
which thing we call ſubſtance, becauſe it is 
not a property of any other thing, but is a 
thing which ſubſiſts by itſelf, or has an in- 
dependent exiſtence. Did we perceive ſi- 
gure, as we perceive ſound, it would not be 
conſidered as a quality. In a word, a qua- 
lity is not intelligible, unleſs upon ſuppoſiti- 
on of ſome other thing, of which it is the 
ia Sounds indeed, and ſmells are alſo 


COn- 


248 AUTHORITY OF | 
confidered as qualities. But this proceeds 
from habit, not from original perception. 
For, having once acquired the diſtinction be- 
twixt à thing and its qualities, and finding 
ſound and ſmell, more to reſemble qualities 
than ſubſtances, we readily come into the uſe 
of conſidering them as qualities, 


. ANOTHER thing is to be obſerved with 

regard to thoſe things, which are perceived 
as qualities by the fight and touch; that we 
cannot form a conception of them, indepen- 
dent of the beings to which they belong. 
It is not in our power, to ſeparate, even in 
imagination, colour, figure, motion and ex- 
tenſion from body or ſubſtance. There is 
no ſuch thing as conceiving motion by itſelf, 
abſtracted from ſome body which is in mo- 
tion. Let us try ever ſo often, our attempts 


will be in vain; to form an idea of a triangle 
independent of a body which has that figure. 

We cannot conceive a body that ls not fi- 
gured; and we can as little conceive a figure 
without a body; for this would be to con- 
3 | celve 


OURSEN SES. 24 
Celve a Seite, as having 2 ſeparate exiſtence, 
at the ſame time, that we conceive it, as hay- 
ing no ſeparate exiſtence; or to conceive it, 
at once, to be a quality, and not a quality. 
Thus it comes out, that ſubſlance, as well as 
quality, makes a part, not only of every per- 
ception of ſight-and touch, but of every con- 
ception we can form, of colour, figure, exten- 
fion and motion. Taking in the whole train 
of our ideas, there is not one more familiar 
to us, than that of ſubſtance, a = or ln 
which has ne 


Wur N theſe OM are contin I can- 
not readily diſcover, by what wrong con- 
ception of the matter, Mr. Locke has been 
led, to talk fo obſcurely and indiſtinctly of 
the idea of ſubſtance. Tis no wonder, he 
ſhould be difficulted, to form an idea of ſub- 
ſtance in general, abſtracted from all proper- 
ties, when ſuch abſtraction is altogether be- 
yond the reach of our conception. But 
there is nothing more eaſy, than to form an 
idea of any particular ſubſtance with its pro- 

Ii | perties. 


, 250 AUTHORITY OF 


perties. Yet this has ſome how eſcaped him. 
When he forms the idea of a horſe or a 
ſtone, he admits nothing into the idea, but 
a collection of ſeveral ſimple ideas of ſenſible 
qualities T. And becauſe, ſays he, we 
cannot conceive how theſe qualities ſhould 
« ſubſiſt alone, nor one in another, we ſup- 
tt poſe them exiſting in, and ſupported by 
e ſome common ſubject; which ſupport, we 
« denote by the name ſubſtance, tho” it be 
.* certain, we have no clear or diſtin& idea 
« of that thing we ſuppoſe a ſupport.” A 
ſingle queſtion would have unfolded the 
whole myſtery. How comes it, that we 
cannot conceive qualities to ſubſiſt alone, nor 
one in another? Mr. Locke himſelf muſt 
have given the following anſwer, that the 
thing is not conceiveable; becauſe a proper- 
ty or quality cannot ſubſiſt without the thing 
to which it belongs; for, if it did, that it 

would ceaſe to be a property or quality. 

Why then does he make fo faint an infe- 
rence, as that we ſuppoſe qualities exiſting in, 

and ſupported by ſome common fubje&? It 
+ Book 2d, chap. 23. | 7 


- OURSENSES 25 
is not a bare ſuppoſition: it is an eſſential 
part of the idea: it is neceſſarily ſuggeſted 
to us by ſight and touch. He obſerves 
that we have no clear nor diſtin idea of 
ſubſtarice, If he means, that we have no 
clear nor diſtin& idea of ſubſtance abſtract- 
ed from its properties, the thing is ſo true, 
that we can form-no . of ſubſtance at all, 
abſtracted from its properties. Butit is alſo true, 
that we can form no idea of properties, ab- 
ſtracted from a ſubſtance. The ideas both of 
ſubſtance and of quality are perfectly in the 
fame condition, in this reſpect; which /, tis ſur- 
priſing, philoſophers :ſhould ſo little attend 
to. At the ſame time, we have clear and 
diſtinct ideas, of many things as they exiſt ; 
tho' perhaps we have not a complete idea of 
any one thing. We have ſuch ideas of 
things, as ſerve to all the uſeful purpoſes of 
life. Tis true, our ſenſes don't reach be⸗ | 
yond the external properties of beings. We 
have no direct perception of the eſſence and 
internal properties of any thing. Theſe we 
diſcover from the effects produced. But had 
we ſenſes directly to perceive the eſſence and 
| intcrnal 


255 AUTHORITY OF 
internal properties of things, our idea of them 
would indeed be more full and completo, 
but not more clear and diſtinct, than at pre- 
ſent, For, even upon that ſuppoſition, -we | 
could form no notion of ſubſtance, but by 
its properties internal and external. Io 
form an idea of a abſtracted from m 
er e ny e. een e det 


= 


Tus following is the Lge: nh ike 
kid down. By ſight and touch, we have the 
impreſſions of ſubſtance/and body, as well as 
of qualities; It is not figure; extenſion, mo- 
tion; that we perceive; butt a thing figured, 
extended and moving. As we cannot form 
an idea of ſubſtance abſtracted from quali- 
ties, ſo we cannot form an idea of qualities 
abſtracted from ſubſtance. They are rela- 
tive ideas, and imply each other. This is 
one point gained. Another is, that the idea 

of ſubſtance or body, thus attained, compre- 
bonds in it, independent and permanent ex- 
iſtence; that is, ſomething which exiſts in- 
dependent of our perceptions, and remains 
the fame, whether we perceive it or not. 


IN 


OURSENSES. 253 


IN this manner are we made ſenſible of 
the real exiſtence of things without us. The 
feeling is ſo ſtrong, and the conviction which 
makes a part of the feeling, that ſceptical 
arguments, however cunningly deviſed, may 
puzzle, but can never get the better: fox 
ſuch is our conſtitution, that we can enter- 
tain no doubt of the authority of our ſenſes; 
in this particular. At the fame time, every 
ſort of experience confirms the truth of bur 
perceptions, | I ſee a tree at a diſtance; of a 
certain ſhape and ſize. Walking forward, I 
find it in its place, by the reſiſtance it makes 
to my body; and, ſo far as I can diſcover by 
touch, it is of the ſame ſhape and fize, which 
my eye repreſents it to be. I return day af- 
ter day, year after year, and find the ſame 
odject, with no other variation, but what the 
ſeaſons and time produce. The tree is at 
laſt cut down. It is no longer to be ſeen or 


felt. 


To overthrow the authority of our ſen- 
fes, a few particular inſtances, in which they 
| appear 


254 AUTHORITYOF 


appear fallacious; are of no weight. And 
to confirm this. branch of the argument, we 
need but compare the evidence of our ſen- 
ſes; with the evidence of human teſtimony, 
The compariſon cannot fail to afford fatis- 
faction. Veracity, and a diſpoſition to rely 
upon human evidence, are correſponding 
prigciples, which greatly promate ſociety. 

Among individuals, theſe principles are found 
to be of different degrees of ſtrength. But, 
in the main, they are ſo proportioned to each 
other, that men are not often deceived. In 
this caſe, it would be but a bad argument, 
that we ought not to give credit to any man's 
teſtimony, becauſe ſome men are defective 
in the principle of veracity. The only ef- 
fect ſuch inſtances have, or ought to have, is 
to correct our propenſity to believe, and to 
bring on a habit of ſuſpending our belief, 
till circumſtances be examined, The evi- 
dence of our ſenſes, riſes undoubtedly much 
higher, than the evidence of human teſtimo- 
ny. And if we continue to put truſt in the 
latter, after many inſtances of being deceiv- 
JS 3 


OUR SENSES. 235 


ed, we have better reaſon to put truſt in the 


former, were the inſtances of being deceiv- 


ed equally numerous; which is plainly not 


the fact. When people are in ſound health 


of mind and body, they are very ſeldom 
miſ- led by their ſenſes 


1178y-1 hee been fo lucky, as to put this 
ſubject in its proper light, it will not be 
u difficult task to clear it of any doubts 
which may ariſe, upon peruſing: the above 
mentioned treatiſe. The author boldly de- 
[nies the exiſtence of matter, and the re- 
ality of the objects of ſenſe ; contending, that 
there is nothing really exiſting without the 
mind of an intelligent being; in a word, re- 
ducing all to be a world of ideas. It is an 
opinion ſtrangely prevailing among men, 
“ (ſays he) that houſes, mountains, rivers, 
« and, ina word, all ſenſible objects, have an 
< exiſtence, natural or real, diſtinct from 
te their being perceived by the underſtand- 
« ing.” He ventures to call this a manifeſt 
contradiction; and his argument againſt the 

| reality 


| 256 AUTHORITY OF 


reality of theſe objects, is in the following 
words. The forementioned objects are 
things perceived by ſenſe. We cannot 
4. perceive any thing, but our own ideas or 
40 perceptions; therefore, what we call men, 
c houſes, mountains, &c. cn be nothing 
& elſe but ideas or perceptions.” This ar- 
gument ſhall be examined afterwards, with 
the reſpe& that is due to its author. It ſhall 
only be taken notice of by the way, that, 
ſuppoſing mankind to be under ſo ſtrange and 
unaccountable a deluſion, as to miſtake their 
ideas for men, houſes, mountains, Gc. it 
will not follow, that there is in this, any 
manifeſt contradiction, or any contradiction 
at all. For deception is a very different thing 
from contradiction. But he falls from this 
high pretenſion, in the after part of his work, 
to argue more conſiſtently, that, ſuppoſ- 
ing ſolid, figured, and moveable ſubſtan- 
© ces, to exiſt without the mind, yet we 
could never come to the knowledge of 
„ this *,” Which is true, if our ſenſes 
| | _=— 


* Sect. 18. 


2 URSENSES. 257 
beat no teſtimony, of the fact. And he 
adds *, ( that, ſuppoſing no bodies to exiſt 
© without the mind, we might have the ve- 
« ry ſame reaſons for ſuppoſing the exiſtence 
© of external bodies, that we have now:“ 
which may be true, ſuppoſing only our ſen- 
ſes to be fallacious. 


| Ti 18 doctor's fundamental propoſition ts, 
that we can perceive nothing- but our own 
ideas or perceptions. This, at beſt, is an 
ambiguous expreſſion. For, taking percep- 
tion or ſenſation. in its proper ſenſe, as ſigni- 
ſying every object we perceive, it is a mere 
identical propoſition, ſciæ. that we perceive 
nothing but what we perceive. But, taking 
the doctor's propoſition as he intended it, 
that we can have no perception or conſeiouſ- 
neſs of any thing, but what exiſts in our own 
minds, he had certainly no reaſon to take 
this aſſertion for granted;. and yet he has 
never once attempted a proof of it: tho', in 
ſo bold an undertaking, as that of annihilat- 

KRK ing 


43H SR. 20, 


28 AUT HORITYOF 
ing the whole univerſe, his own mind ex- 
cepted, he had no reaſon to hope, that an 
aſſertion, ſo ſingular, and ſo contradictory to 
common ſenſe and feeling, would be taken 
upon his word. It may be true, that it is 
not eaſy to explain, nor even to comprehend, 
by what means we perceive external objects. 
But our ignorance is, in moſt caſes, a very 
indifferent argument againſt matter of fact. 
At this rate, he may take upon him equal- 
ly. to deny the bulk of the operations in the 
natural world, which have not hitherto been 
explained by him, or others. And at, bot - 
tom, tis perhaps as difficult to explain the 
manner of perceiving our on ideas, or the 
impreſſions made upon us, as to explain the 
manner of perceiving external objects. The 
doctor, beſides, ought to have conſidered, 
that by this bold doctrine, he, in effect, ſets 
bounds to the power of nature, or of the 
Author of nature. If it was in the power of 
the Almighty, to beſtow upon man, a facul-- 
ty of perceiving external objects, he has cer- 
tainly done it. For, ſuppoſing the exiſtence 
| ;- * of 


'+r OURSENSES. 239 
of external objects, we have no conception, 
how they could be otherways manifeſted to 
us, than in fact they are. Therefore, the 
doctor was in the right to aſſert, that a fa- 
culty in man to perceive external objects, 
would be a contradiction, and conſequently 
a privilege not in the power of the Deity to 


beſtow upon him. He perceived the neceſ- 


ſity of carrying his argument ſo far; at the 
ſame time, ſenſible that this was not to be 
made out, he never once attempts to point 
at any thing like a contradiction. And if 
he cannot prove it to be a contradiction, the 
queſtion is at an end; for, ſuppoſing only 


the fact to be poſſible, we have the very 
higheſt evidence of its reality, that our na- 


ture is capable of, no leſs than the teſtimo- 
ny of our ſenſes. 


Ir has been urged in ſupport of the above 
doctrine, that nothing is preſent to the mind, 
but the impreſſions made upon it, and that 
it cannot be conſcious of any thing but what 


is _ 'This. * is eaſily ſolved. 


For 


9 
| 


266 AUT HORITYOF 
For the propoſition, that we cannot be con- 
ſcious of any thing but what is preſent to 
the mind, or paſſes within it, is taken for 
granted, as if it were ſelf-evident. And yet 
the direct contrary is an evident fact, ſciz. 
that we are conſcious of many things which 
are not preſent to the mind; that is, which 
are not, like impreſſions and ideas, within the 
mind. Nor is there any manner of difficul- 
ty to conceive, that an impreſſion may be 
made upon us, by an external object, in 
ſuch a manner, as to raiſe a direct percepti- 
on of the external object itſelf. When we 
attend to the operations of the external ſenſes, 
the impreſſions made upon us by external 
objects, are diſcovered to have very different 
effects. In ſome inſtances we feel the im- 
preſſion, and are conſcious of it, as an im- 
preſſion. In others, being quite unconſci- 
ous of the impreſſion, we perceive only the 
external object. And to give full ſatisfacti · 
on to the reader, upon the preſent ſubject, it 
may perhaps not be fruitleſs, briefly to 
run over the operations of the ſeveral exter- 
nal 


dURSENSEsS. 261 
nal ſenſes, by which the mind is made con- 
ſeious of external objects, and of their pro- 
perties. 

Ax firſt, with regard to the ſenſe of 
ſmelling, which gives us no notice of ex- 
ternal exiſtences. Here the operation is 
of the ſimpleſt kind. It is no more but an 
impreſſion made at the organ, which is per- 
ceived as an impreſſion. Experience, 'tis 
true, and habit, lead us to aſcribe this parti- 
cular impreſſion to ſome external thing as its 
cauſe, Thus, when a particular impreſſion 
is made upon us, termed the ſweet ſmell of 
a roſe, we learn to aſcribe it to a roſe, tho 
there is no ſuch object within view, becauſe 
that peculiar impreſſion upon the organ of 
_ ſmelling, is always found to accompany the 
ſight and touch of the body, called a roſe. 
But that this connection is the child of ex- 
perience only, will be evident from the fol. 
lowing conſiderations; that, when a new 
ſmell is perceived, we are utterly at a loſs, 
what cauſe to aſcribe it to; and, that when 
a child feels a ſmell, it is not led to aſſign it 

to 


262 AUTHORITYOF | 
to any cauſe whatever. In this caſe, there 


dan be no other difficulty, but to compre- 


hend, in what manner the mind becomes 
conſcious of an impreſſion, made- upon the 
body. Upon which, it ſeems ſufficient to ob- 
ſerve, that we are kept entirely ignorant, in 
what manner the foul and body are conneR- 
ed; which is no ſingular caſe. But, from 
our ignorance of the manner of this connec- 
tion, to deny the reality of external exiſten- 
ces, reducing all to a world of ideas, is in re- 
ality not leſs whimſical, than if one, after 
admitting the reality of external exiſten- 
ces, ſhould po about to deny, that we have 
any perception of them ; merely becauſe we 
cannot fully account for the manner of this 
perception, nor how a material ſubſtance can 
communicate itſelf to the mind, which is ſpi- 
rit and not matter. The fame obſervations 
may be applied to the ſenſe of hearing; with 
this difference only, that a ſound is not per- 
ceived, at leaſt not originally, as an imprefli- 
on made at the organ, but merely as an ex- 

iſtence in the mind. Fo 
In 


OUR SENSES. 263 
I the ſenſes of taſting and touching, we 
are conſcious not only of an impreſſion made 
at the organ, but alſo of a body which 
makes the impreſſion. When I lay my 
hand upon this table, the impreſſion is of a 
hard ſmooth boy, which reſiſts the moti- 
on of my hand. In this impreſſion, there 
is nothing to create the leaſt ſuſpicion of fal- 
lacy. The body acts where it is, and it acts 
merely by reſiſtance. There occurs not, 
therefore, any other difficulty in this caſe, 
than that mentioned above, ſcix. after what 
manner an impreſſion made at an organ of 
the body, is communicated to, or perceived 
by the mind. We ſhall only add upon this 
head, that tobch alone, which is the leaſt 
intricate. of all oùr feelings, is ſufficient to 
overthrow the dòctors whole pompous 
ſyſtem. We have, from that ſenſe, the full- 
eſt and cleareſt perception of external ex- 
iſtences, that can be conceived, ſubject to no 
doubt, ambiguity, nor even cavil. And this 


aufden mult at the ſame time, ſupport 
the 


264 AUTHORITY OF 


the authority of our ſenſes, when they give 
us notice of external exiſtences. © 


| War remains to be examined, is the 
ſenſe of ſeeing, which, tis preſumed, the 
doctor had principally an eye to, in arguing 
againſt the reality of external exiſtences, And 

indeed, the operation of perceiving objects 
at a diſtance, is ſo curious, and fo ſingular, 
that it is nat ſurprifing, a rigid philoſopher 
ſhould be puzzled about it. In this caſe, 
there is a difficulty, which applies with, ſome 
ſhew of ſtrength, and which poſlibly has 
had weight with our author, tho' it is 
never once mentioned by him. It is, that 
no being can act but where it is, and that a 


body, at a diſtance, cannot act ypon the 
mind, more than the mind upon it. I muſt 


tandidly own, that this argument appears 
to evince the neceſſity, of ſome intermediate 
means, in the act of viſion, One means is 
ſuggeſted by matter of fat. The! image of 
a viſible object, is painted upon the retina 
of the eye. And it is not more difficult to 

con- 


0 URSENꝭSSES. 265 
conceive, that this image may be ſome how 
conveyed to the mind, than to conceive the 
manner of its being painted upon the retina. 
This cireumſtance puts the operation of vi- 
ſion, in one reſpect, upon the ſame footing, 
with that of touching; both being per form- 
ed by means of an impreſſion made at the 
organ. There is indeed this eſſential diffe- 
rence, that the impreſſion of touch is felt as 
ſuch, whereas the impreſſion of ſight is not 
felt: we are not conſeious of any ſuch im- 
preſſion, but merely of the object idelf, which 
2 ww hw we £70 


"Ann hin à curious piece of n 
Where to our view. Tho an impreſ- 
ſion is made upon the mind, by means of 
the image painted upon the retina, whereby 
the external object is perceived; yet nature 
has carefully concealed this impreſſion from 
us, in order to remove all ambiguity, and to 
give us a diſtin& feeling of the object itſelf, 
and of that only. In touching and taſting, 


the impreſſion made at the organ, is ſo cloſe- 
Ll | ly 


266 AUTHOR ITYOF 


Iy connected with. the body which makes 
the impreſſion, that the perception of the 
impreſlian, along with that of the body, cre- 
ates no confuſion nor amhiguity. the bady 
being felt as operating x here it really is. But 
were the impreſſion of a viſible object felt, 
as made at the retina, Which is the organ of 
light, all objects behoxed ta be ſeen as with; 
in the cye- It is doubted among; natupaliſts, 
whether outneſs or diſtance is at all diſcover- 
able by ſight, and whether that appearance be 
Not the effect of experitnee. But bodies, and 
their operations, are ſa cloſely connected in 
place, that were we confcious of an organic 
impreſſion at the retina, the mind would 
have à conſtant propenſity to plane the body 
there alſo ; which would be a circumſtance 
extremely, perplexing; in the act of viſion, 2s 
{tting feeling and experience in perpetual 
oppoſition ;; enough to pniſon all the e 
K we enjoy I" * . 


* 1 2 eds is 
is a worſt reaſon in the world for denying 


_y 


O URSEN SBS. 267 
any well atteſted fact, that we cannot ac- 
count for the manner by which it is brought 
about. It is true, we cannot explain, after 
what manner it is, that, by the intervention 
of the rays of light, the beings, and things 
around us, are laid open to our view; but it 
is mere arrogance, to pretend to doubt of the 
fact, upon that account; for it is, in eſſect, 
maintaining, that there is nothing in — 
e wa we' can I" 


22 perception of objects at a diſtance, 
by intervention of the rays of light, in- 
volves no inconſiſtency nor impoſlibility. 
And unleſs this could be aſſerted, we have 
no reaſon nor foundation to with-hold that 
aſſent to a matter of fact, which is due to the 
authority of our ſenſes. And after all, this 
particular ſtep of the operation of viſion, is, 
at bottom, not more difficult to be conceiv- 
ed or aceounted for, than the other ſteps, of 
which no man entertains a doubt. It is, per- 
haps, not eaſy to explain, how the image of an 
external body is painted upon the retina tumi- 
E cd. 


26 AUTHORITY OF 


ca. And no perſon pretends to explain, how 
this image is communicated to the mind. 
Why then ſhould we heſitate about the 
laſt ſtep, to wit the perception of external 
objects, more than about the two former, 
when they are all equally ſupported, by the 
moſt unexceptionable evidence. The whole 
operation of yiſion far ſurpaſſes human know- 
ledge: but not more, than the operation of 
magnetiſm, electricity, and a thouſand other 
natural appearances; and our ignorance of 
the cauſe, ought not to make us ſuſpect de- 

ceit in * one caſe, more than! in the aher. 


WI ſhall hah 1 this Abies with the 
following reflection. Whether our. percep- 
tion of the reality of external objects, corre- 
ſponds to the truth of things, or whether it 
be a mere Illuſion, is a queſtion, which, from 
the nature of the thing, cannot admit of a 
ftrit demonſtration. One thing is certain, 
that, ſuppoſing the reality of external ob- 
jects, we can form no conception of their 

being * to us, in a more lively and 

| con- 


OUR SENSES, 269 


eonvincing manner, than in fact is done. 
Why then call a thing in doubt, of which 
we have as good evidence, as human nature 
is capable of receiving? But we cannot call 
it in doubt, otherways than in ſpeculation, 
and even then, but for a moment. We have 
a thorough conviction of the reality of exter- 
nal objects; it riſes to the higheſt certainty 
of belief; and we act, in conſequence of it, 
with the greateſt ſecurity of not being de- 
ceived. Nor are we in fact deceived. When 
we put the matter to a trial, every experi- 
ment anſwers to our perceptions, and con- 
firms us more and more in our belief. 


\ 


ESSAY 


ESSAY. IV. 


Of our IDEA Sea. 


' "H E ſabjed propoſed t to be handled i in 
1. the preſent eſlay is the idea of power, 
and. * origin. This term is found i in all 
languages: we talk familiarly, of a power 
in one body, to produce certain effects, and 
of aſcapacity in another body, to have cer- 
tain effects produced upon it. Yet authors 
have differed ſtrangely, about the foundati- 
on of theſe ideas; ; and, after all that has been 
faid, it ſeems yet to be a matter of uncer- 
tainty, whether they are ſuggeſted by reaſon, 
by experience, or by what other means. 
This ſubject deſerves our attention the more, 
that the bulk of uſeful knowledge depends 
upon it. Without ſome inſi ght into cauſes 
and their effects, we ſhould be a very imper- 
fe@ race of beings. And, with regard to 
the preſent undertaking, this ſubject muſt 
not, at any rate, be overlooked ; becauſe 
from i, principally, is derived any know- 
ledge 


27 IDEA OF POWER. 
ledge we have of vg Deity, 2 will be after- 
wards made evide _- 


14 91 V7 © © Ad 42 0 0 


Pow RR Fenoxes a . ides which, 
upon that account, CAunôt admit of a — 
tion. * But no perſon is. nor can | Be? at a 

about the meaning, Every atiohwe peel 
gives 1 us 15 notion of power; for 4 produc. 
tive dau E is implied ir in dur perception of e- 
very action ion of cyent * and the very idea & 
cauſe compreliends a power of producing 
Its effect. Let us only reflect bp on the per- 
ception we have, ben we fee 2 lens thrown 
into the air out of or one 8 hand. ; Is the per- er- 
ception of this action, are included, contigu- 
ity of the hand and ſtone, the n motion of the 
perſon's hand with the ſtone in it, and 
the ſeparate motion of the fone, following 
the other circumſtances in point of time. 
The firſt circumſtance is neceffary, to put the 
man in a condition to exert his power upon 
the ſtone; the ſecond is the actual exertion of 
the power ; ; and the laff ! is the effect produc- 
<WOTA YT $4.0 | | mean Bah - 


ly of liberty and neceſſity. 


1 84 OF POWER. 273 


ed by that exertion. But theſe | circumſtan- 
ces, Which include both contiguity and ſuc- 
ceſſion, make no Part of the idea of power; 
which i is conceived'or felt as an inherent pro- 
perty fubſifting i in the man, not merely when 
| lets exerting it, but even when he i is at reſt. 
That all men haye this very idea, is a fad 
not to be controverted. The only doubt i is, 
whence it! is derived; from what ſource 5 


frings. ä 


a Ti AT BOB cannot help us out, will be 
evident.” For reaſon muſt always have ſome 
object to employ itſelf upon. There muſt be 
known Data or principles, to lead us to the 
diſcovery of things, which are connected with 
theſe Data or principles. But with regard to 
power, which makes a neceſſary connection 
betwixt a cauſe and its effect, we have no Data 
nor principles to lead us to the diſcovery. We 
are not acquainted with the beings and things 
about us, otherways than by certain qualities 
and properties, obvious to. the external ſen- 
ſes. Power is none of theſe; nor is there 

25 Mm i any 


— . — — — 


OS — ä——ää— ³ — DT TI 
N 


27 IDEA OF POWER. 


any connection which we can diſcover, be- 
twixt power and any of theſe. In a word, 
we have not the leaſt foundation for conclud- 
ing power in any body, till it once exert its 
power. If it be urged, that, the effecis pro: 
duced are Dara, from which, we can infer 
à cauſe by a proceſs of, reaſoning, . and con- 
ſequently, a power in the cauſe to produce 
theſe effects; I anſwer, that when A new. 


thing or quality is produced, when in gene- 


ral any change is brought about, it is ex- 
tremely doubtful, whether, by any proceſs; of 
reaſoning, we can conclude i it to be an effect, 
ſo as neceſſarily to require a cauſe of its exiſt- 
ence. That we do conclude i it to be an ef- 
fect, i is moſt certain. But that we can draw 


any ſuch concluſion, merely from gon, I 


tow t clearly fee. What leads me, I confeſs, 
to this ay, of thinking, is, thas men of the 


greateſt | genius have been unſucceſsful, in at- 


tempting, to prove, that every thing which be- 
gins to exiſt, muſt have a cauſe of its exiſtence; 
Whatever is produced (fays Mr.,;Locke) 
* nt any cauſe, is Pang by nothing: 


or, 


IDEA OF POWER. 375 
6 or, in other words, has norbing for its 
te cauſe;' But not bing can never be a cauſe, 
«no more than it can be ſomet hing.“ This 
is obviouſly begging the queſtion. To af- 
firm that nothing is the cauſe, is taking for 
granted that a cauſe is neceſſary; which is 
the very point undertaken to be made out. 
Doctor Clarke's argument labours under the 
fame defect. Every thing (he ſays) muſt 
* have a cauſe; for if any thing wanted a 
* cauſe, it would produce itſelf; that is, exiſt 
before it exiſted, which is impoſſible.” If 
a thing can exiſt without a cauſe, there is no 
neceſſity it ſhould produce itſelf, or that any 
thing ſhould produce it. In ſhort, there does 
not appear to me any contradiction in the 
above propoſition, that a thing may begin to 
exiſt without a cauſe: and therefore, J dare 
not declare the fact to be impoſſible. But 
ſenſe and feeling afford me a conviction, that 
nothing begins to exiſt without a cauſe, tho” 
reaſon cannot afford me a demonſtration of 
it. This matter will be opened afterwards. 
At preſent, it is ſufficient to obſerve, that the 
1 con- 


276 IDEA OF POWER! 
eanvidtion. in this caſe Is complete, and cars 
Figs ſo much authority with it, as ſcarce, to 
290pt of = bare conception, that the thing 
can poſſib ly be otherways. This ſubject, at 
the ſame time, affords a new inſtance of what 
ue haye had more than once occaſion to ob- 
ſerve. Fond of arguments drawn from the 
nature of things, we are too apt to apply ſuch 
arguments without diſcretion ; and to call 
that demonſtration, which, at bottom; is no- 
thing but a conviction from ſenſe and feel- - 
ing. Our perceptions, which work ſilently, 
and without effort, are apt to be overlook- 
ed; and we vainly imagine, we can demon- 
ſtrate every ee which. we be 
er 1 12 


* vill be pretty ing: darch ide of 
power is not deducible from experience, 
more than from reaſon, We can learn no- 
thing merely from experience, but that two 
objects may have been conſtantly conjoined 
in time paſt, ſuch as fire and heat; the ſun 
and light. But, in the firſt place, all that 


bio Can 


IDEA OF POWEN 27 
can be gathered from ſuch factꝭ, cotnes far 
ſhort of our idea of cauſe and effect, or of 2 
power in / one body to produce ſome change 
in another. In the ſecond place, experience, 
which relates only to the aftions of 'the pars 
ticular bodies we are acquainted with, ican- 
not aid us to diſcover pd wer in any body, 
that we have not formerly ſeen in ation. 
Let, from the very firſt operation of ſui a 
body, we have the perception of cauſ ind 
effect, uch therefore cannot be fronpex+ 
perienec And, in the laſt place, 'asexperis | 
ence in no caſe reaches to futtricy, our dea 
of power, did it depend upon experience; 
could only look backward: with fegard to 
every new production, depending upon cauſ- 
es even the moſt familiar, we ſhould; be ut- 
terly at a 2 m _ I... 079 

itte rides 
Er. Ane ark dar our ien or 
power is not derived, /either from reaſon or 
experienee, we ſhall-endeavour to trace out 
the true foundation of this idea. Running 
over the ſubject, the following thoughts oc- 
20 cur 


258 IDEA'OF P'O WER: 
eur,” which I' ſhall ſet before the reader, in 
their natural order. As man, in his life and 


actions, is neceſſarily connected, both with 
the animate and inanimate world; he would 
be viterly at a loſs to conduct himſelf, with- 
out ſome acquaintance with the beings a. 
round him, and their operations. His ex- 
ternal ſenſes give him all the intelligence that 
is mukſſary; not only for being, but for well- 
being They diſcover to him, in the firſt 
thisyrould not be ſufficient, unleſs they alſo 
diſcovered to him their powers and operati- 
ons. The ſenſe of ſeeing is the principal 
means of his intelligence. I have explained; 
in a former eſſay, that: peculiar manner of 
perception, by which we diſcover the exiſt- 
ence of external objects. And when theſe 
are put in motion, whereby certain things 
follow, tis by another peculiar manner of 
Perception, that we diſcover a relation be- 
twixt certain objects, which makes one be 
termed the cauſe, the other the effect. I 
need ſcarce repeat again, that there is bo ex- 
129 plaining 


IDEA OF POWER: 279 


plaining ſimple feelings and perceptions, o- 


therways than by ſuggeſting the terms which 
genote them. All that can be done in this 
caſe, is to requeſt of the reader, to attend to 
what paſſes in his mind, when he ſees. ong 
billiard ball ſtruck againſt another, or a tree, 
which the wind is blowing down, or a ſtone 
thrown. into the air out of one's hand. We 
are obviouſly ſo conſtituted, as not only to 
perceive the one body: ating, and excrting 
its power; but alſo to perceive, that the change 


in the other body is produced by means of 


that action or exertion of power. This 
change we perceive to be an efe&; and we. 
perceive a neceſſary connection betwixt the 


action and the effect, ſo as that the one muſt. 
oi_ follow * he 305 leg 


; * 1 93 3 in a 28 885 
by the eye, ſa I diſcoyer power in my mind, 


by an internal ſenſe. By one act of the will, 


ideas are raiſed. By another act of the will, 
my limbs are put in motion. Attending to 


theſe operations, I perceive. or feel the mo- 


tion 


— —— =- : — — — 
—— — 

- 2 * 

——— 5 — — 


—— 


— * — — 
py 


r — > — 


—— - 
* * # 7 . — ry . - mY * - 
—ů ended ICE re inn lee Ce ED, DEER — — — — 2 


— 


a& IDEAOF POWER 
ton of the limbs, and the entry of the ide - 
41% tO f, : neceſſarily from the a of the 
will. In other words; I petceive or feel tlieſe 
to bo:effeRs, and the act of ls be the 
_—_ rf £15607 ns 30 ni 2: eo zd 
„Aun * chis: Feeling is involved 3 in the 
very perception of the aRion, without taking 
in either reaſon or experience, may be illuſ- 
ted by ſome plain obſervations. There is 
no relation more familiar, even to children, 
than that of cauſe and effect. The firſt time 
2 child lifts a bit of bread, the perception 
ir has of this action, not only includes a con- 


junction of the band with the bread, and 


that the motion of the latter follows the 
motion of the former; but it like ways in- 
cludes that peculiar modification, which is 
expreſt-by a power in the hand to lift the 
. bread. .: Accordingly,” we find no expreſſion 
more familiar among infants and ruſticks, nor 
better underltood than I can do this, I can 
dothat. Further, as things are beſt illuſtrated 
ee contraries, let us put che eaſe of a 
{O13 * being 


IDEA OF POWER. 281 
being, if there is ſuch a one, who, in view- 
ing external objects, has no idea of ſubſtance, 
but only of qualities; and who, in viewing 
motion, does not feel the change produced 
by it, to be an effect, or any way connected 
with the motion, further than as following 
it in point of time. It appears extremely e- 
vident, that this ſuppoſed being can never 
have the idea of body, or of its powers. Rea- 
ſon or experience can never give it the idea 
of body or ſubſtance, and far leſs of their 


powers. 


Ir is very true, we cannot diſcover power 
in any object, as we diſcover the object itſelf, 
merely by intuition. But the moment an alte- 
ration is produced by any object, we perceive 
that the object has a power to produce that 
alteration ; which leads to denominate the 
one a cauſe, and the other an effect. I don't 
aſſert that we can never be in a miſtake about 
this matter. Children often err, by attri- 
duting an effect to one cauſe inſtead of ano- 
ther, or by conſidering that to be 'a cauſe, 

| Nu which 


— 


252 IDEAOF POWER. 
which is not. Miſtakes of this kind are cor- 


rected by expeflence. But they prove the 
reality of the perception of power, juſt as 
much as where our perceptions are agree - 
able to the truth of — 

Ax with regard to the fallibility of the 
ſenſe of ſeeing, when it points out to us cau- 
ſes and effects, the compariſon may be juſt- 
J inſtituted, betwixt it and belief. The fa- 
culty which regulates belief is not infallible, 
It ſometimes leads us into errors. Nei- 
ther is the faculty infallible, by which we 
"diſcern one thing to be a cauſe, another 
to be an effect. Yet both are exerted with 
' ſufficient certainty, to guide us through life, 
without many capital errors. wy 


"us author of *% treatiſe & human na- 
ture, has employed a world of reaſoning, in 
 fearching for the foundation of our idea of 
power and of neceſſary connection. And, 
after all his anxious reſearches, he can make 
no more of it, but 1 * That the idea of ne- 

« ceſſary 


IDEA OF POWER. 283 

« ceſſary connection, alias power or energy, 
« ariſes from a number of inſtances, of one 
« thing. always following another, which 


connects them in the imagination; where» 


6 by we can readily forctel the exiſtence of 
« the one from the appearance of the o- 
66 ther. „And he pronounces, That this 
« connection can never be ſuggeſted from 
« any one of theſe inſtances, ſurveyed 1 in all 
« poſſible lights and poſitions *. Thus 
he places the eſſence o neceſſary connecti- 
on, or power, upon that propenlity, which 
cuſtom, Produces, to paſs from an object to 

the idea of its uſual attendant. And from 
theſe premiſes, he draws. a concluſion - a 
very extraordinary nature, and which he him- 
ſelf acknowledges to be not a little paradox- 
ical. His words are: 6 Upon the whale, 
6 « neceſſity i is ſomething that exiſts in the 
6 mind, not in objects 3 nor 1s it poſſible 
6 for us even, to form the molt diſtant idea 
« of it ; conſidered a8 4 quality in bodies. Tha 
6 efficacy or energy in cauſes, is neither 
a "oo 


* Philoſophical efſas, eff. 5. 


1 
| 


> — —— 2293 > — 2 
CIS => — 4 — — = IX 2 


— - - — — —— -- 
- — — — —— — — T2 


224 IDEA OF POWER, 
placed in the cauſes themſelves, nor in the 
«Deity, nor in the concurrence of theſe 
64. two principles; but belongs entirely to 
ten the ſoul, which conſiders the union of two 
ot more objects in all paſt inſtances. 'Tis 
« here that the real power of cauſes is plac- 
«cd, along with their connection and ne- 


An py wa #4 2 


Hu; may well admit this doctrine to be a 
violent paradox, becauſe, in reality, it con- 
tradicts our natural feelings, and wages war 
with the common ſenſe of mankind. We 
cannot put this in a ſtronger light than our 
author himſelf does, in forming an objecti- 
on againſt his own doctrine. What! the 
efficacy of cauſes ly in the determination of 
the mind! as if cauſes did not operate en- 
« tirely independent of the mind, and would 
« not continue their operation, even tho' 
there was no mind exiſtent to contemplate 
7 them, or IT FTC ING them, Wn, 
OLI L. Nn 


| * of human nature, vol. I, pag.'290, 290. 


Tora or POWER! 285 
64 g to reverſe the order of nature! and to 
« make that ſecondary which is really pri- 
«mary. To every operation there is a pow- 
«er pre rtioned; and thĩs power muſt be 
placed on the body that operates. If we 
remove the power from one cauſe, we | 
&« mult aſcribe it to another. But to remove 
« jt from all cauſes, and beſtow it on a being 
« that is noways related to the cauſe, or effect, 
60 but by perceiving them, i isa groſs abſurdi- 
0 and contrary to the moſt certain princi- 
« ples of Human reaſon F.” In ſhort, no- 
thing is more clear, than that, from the ve- 
ry ſight of bodies in motion, we have the 
Idea of power, which connects them toge- 
ther, in the relation of cauſe and Nek. This 
power is perceived as a quality in the acting 
body, and by no means is an operation of 
the mind, or an eaſy tranſition of thought 
from one object to another. And there- 
fore, flatly to deny our perception of ſuch a 
quality in þodies, as our author does, is tak- 
ing upon him to contradict a plain matter of 
+ Fag. 294. 


„ 


286 IDEA OF TONER. 
faQ, of which all the word can give teſtimq- 
ny. He may be at a loſs, indeed, to diſcover 
the Pures of this perception, becauſe he can 

neither derive it, por the idea of ſubſtance, 
— his own principles. But it has been 
mpre than once obſerved, that it is too bold, 
to deny a fact, ſupported by the, | beſt evi; 
dence,, merely becauſe one is at a loſs. to dif: 
Cover the cauſe. At the fame time, \ there i is 
no manner of difficulty, to lay open the 
foundation of 1 theſe, perceptions. Both of 
them e 5 Me as, is. clearly 
made out above, 4: 


e g Tis 


- 


* to how, that our 2utboy + account 
of this matter comes far ſhort of truth, it 
will be lain from one or two inſtances, 
that tho a conſtant connection of t two ob- 
jects, may, by habit or cuſtom, produee a a ſi- 
milar connection in the imagination ; yet 
that a conſtant connection, whether i in the 
imagination, or betwixt the objechs them; 
ſelves, does by no means come up, to our 
idea of power. Far from it. In a gar- 


_ lon, 


Oe 
* 


* 


% 
*. 
"a 


IDEA OF POWER. 


ibn. the ſoldiers conſtantly turn out at a 


hain beat of the drum. The gates of the 
town are opened and ſhut regularly, as the 
clock points at à certain hour. Theſe facts 
are obſerved by a child, grow up with him, 
and turn habitual during a long life.” In this 
inſtance, there is a conſtant connection be- 
twixt objects, which is attended with a ſimi- 
lar connection in the imagination: yet the 
perſon above ſuppoſed; if not a changeling, 
never imagined, the beat of the drum to be 
the cauſe of the motion of the ſoldiers ; nor 
the pointing of the clock to a certain 1 
to be the cauſe of the opening or ſhutting of 
the gates. He perceives the cauſe of theſe o- 
perations to be very different; and is not led 
into any miſtake by the above circumſtances, 
however cloſely connected. Let us put ano- 
ther inſtance ſtill more appoſite. Such is the 
human conſtitution, that we act neceſſarily, 
upon the exiſtence of certain perceptions or 
motives. The proſpect of victuals makes a 
hungry man accelerate his pace. Reſpect to 
an antient family moves him to take a wife. 

An 


P | 


as 
7 #7 > 


IDEA OF POWER, 


„An object of diſtreſs prompts him to lay 


out his money, or venture his perſon. Vet 
no man dreams a motive to be the cauſe of 
action; ; tho}, if the doctrine of neceſſity hold 
true, here i is not only a conſtant, but a ne- 


1 connection 5. 


F. R ou che kh laſt given, it appears. 
har conſtant connection, and the other cir- 
cumſtances mentioned by our author, are 


far from coming up to our idea. of power. 
| There 


*A . idea, tis brio, amd the cauſe 
of action; cannot, of iſe, produce motion. After what 
. monier then does it operate? I-explain the matter thus: 
- The power of magnetiſm, - or any other particular power in 
matter, by which the body endued with the power is im- 
pelled towards other bodies, cannot operate, if there is no 
other body placed within its Sphere of activity. hut placing 
anqther body there, the magnetic body is directly impelled 
towards this new body. Yet the new body is not the cau/+ 
of tlie motion, but only the occaſon of it; the condition of 
the: power being ſuch, that the body endued with it cannot 
operate, but with relation to another body, within its ſphere 

of a@ion:'/ Pteciſely, in the fame manner, does the mind 
act, upon; preſenting of a thought or idea. The idea is not 
the. cay/e of the action, but only the occaſion of it. It is 
” the mind which exerts the action; only tis fo framed, that 
it cannot exert its powers, otherways than upon the preſent · 
ing of certain perceptions to it. 


ID EAOF POWER. 289 
There may be even a neceſſary. connection 
betwixt two objects, without putting them 
in the relation of cauſe and effect, and with- 
out involving a power in the one to produce 
the other. Our author, then, attempts ra- 
ther too bold an enterprize, when he un- 
dertakes to argue mankind out of their ſen- 
ſes and feelings. That we have ſuch a feel- 
ing of power, as is above deſcribed, is a fact 
that cannot admit of the ſmalleſt controver- 
ſy. And all that is left him, would he ar- 
gue with any proſpect of ſucceſs, is to queſ- 
tion, whether this feeling does, in fact, cor- 
reſpond to-the truth of things. But he will 
not undertake ſo ftubborn a task, as to prove 
this a deluſive feeling; when he muſt be ſen- 
ſible of the wonderful harmony, that ſubſiſts 
betwixt it and the reality of cauſes and their 
effects. We have no reaſon to ſuſpect deceit 
in this caſe, more than with regard to many 
other ſenſes, ſome of which remain to be 
unfolded, that are wrought into the conſti- 

tution of man, for wiſe and good purpoſes, 
| Oo and 


2% IDEA OF POWER: 
and without whieh, he would be bh m_ ir- 
regular man 


c Ann were it neveflary=to Fs more- W oben 
à ſubject, which indeed merits the utmoſt 
attention; we have, if I miſtake not, this 
author's own evidence for us; which I 
conſider” as no mean evidence in any caſe; 
and which muſt- be held of the greateſt au- 
thority, when given againſt himſelf: And 
this evidence he gives in his philoſophical eſ- 
ſays. For tho, in this work, he continues to 
maintain © That neceſſity exiſts only in the 
mind, not in objects, and that it is not 
4 poſſible for us even to form the moſt di- 
4 ſtant idea of it, conſidered as a quality in 
« bodies; ” yet, in the courſe of the argu- 
ment, he more than once diſcovers, that he 
himſelf is poſſeſſed of an idea of power, con- 
ſidered as 2 quality in bodies, tho“ he has 
not attended to it. Thus he obſerves , 

“That nature conceals from us, thoſe pow- 
« ers and * on which the inffu- 
* 2 cc © ence 
London edition, pag. 58. 


IDEA OF P O WE R. 291 


* ence of objects entirely depends.” And 
of theſe powers and principles, he gives ſeve- 
ral apt inſtances, ſuch as a power or quality 
in bread to nouriſh; 2 power by which bo- 
dies perſerete f in motion. This j is not only 
owning an idea of power as a quality i in bo- 
dies, but alſo owning the reality of this 
power. In another paſſage , he obſerves, 
« 1 hat the particular powers, by which all 
te natural operations are performed, never ap- 
« pear to the ſenſes; and. « that experi- 
« ence does not lead us to the knowledge 
« of-the ſecret power by which one object 
% produces another,” What leads us to the 
knowledge of this ſecret power, is not at 
preſent. the queſtion, But here is the au- 
thor's own acknowledgment, that he has an 
idea of a power in one object to produce a- 
nother; for he certainly will not ſay, that he 
is here making uſe of words, without having 
any ideas annexed to them. In one paſſage 
in particular *, he talks diſtinctly and expli- 
citly of A power in one object, by which 

6c it 


| + Pag. 72. * Pag. 121. e 8 


4 


292 IDEA OF POWER: 


« it infallibly produces the other, andoperates 
© with the greateſt certainty and ſtrongeſt 
4 neceſſity.” No maſter of language can give 
2/deſcription of power, conſidered as 2 qua- 
lity.in bodies, in more apt or more exprel- 
Live terms. So difficult it is to ſtifle, or to 


e natural N and arg aan . 


5 9 * the (dlegeing arguments have not pre- 
mailed,” may not the following argument 
. hope for ſucceſs? Figure the ſimpleſt of all 
. caſes ; ; a man riſing from his ſeat, to walk 
through the room; and try to analyſe the 
perception of this ſimple event. In the firſt 
place, is the man active or paſſive? Is he 
moved, or does he move himſelf? No mor- 
tal is at a loſs to underſtand theſe queſtions ; 
and no mortal is at a loſs to anſwer them. 
We have a diſtin@ perception or feeling, that 
the man is not moved, but moves; or, which 
Is the ſame, moves himſelf. Let us exa- 
mine, in the next place, what is involved in 
the perception or feeling we have, when we 
8 . ſee 
„ ® Natyram aha fre habe ren | 


IDEAOF POWER. 293 
ſee this man walking. Do we not ſay fami- 
liarly, does not a child ſay, that he can walk? 
And what other thing do we mean by this 
expreſſion, than that he has a power to walk? 
Does not the very idea of walking include 
in it a power to walk? In' this inſtance, our 
author, unhappily for his argument, has nei- 
ther contiguity nor ſucceſſion to recur to, 
for explaining his idea of power, imperfe& 
as it is. And therefore, with regard to this 
inſtance, he muſt either admit, that we have 
an idea of power, conſidered as a quality in 
objects, or take upon him to deny, that we 
have any idea of power at all: for it is evi- 
dent, that the idea of power, when it com- 
prehends only a ſingle object, can never be 
reſolved into a connection in the imaginati- 
on, betwixt two or more objects. We have 
thus the feeling of power from every action, 
be it of the ſimpleſt kind that can be figur- 
ed. And having once acquired the idea of 
power exerted by an animal, to put itſelf in 
motion, we readily transfer that idea to the 
actions of bodies, animate and inanimate, up- 

TY * On 


294 IDEA OF POWER. 


on each other. And, after all, with due re- 
gard to an author of very acute parts, 1 
cannot help obſerving, that there is, Per- 
haps, not one idea of all the train, which. is 

more familiar to us, or more univerſal, than 
the idea of power. b a6 n 
Hs 
kt oy thus py SHS the 2 of 
our idea of power, as a quality in bodies, 
and traced it to ĩts proper ſource, I ſhall cloſe 
this eſſay with ſome obſervations upon cauſ- 
es and their effects. That we cannot diſco- 
ver power in any object, other ways than by 
ſeeing it exert its power, is above obſerved. 
Therefore, we can never diſcoyer any ob- 
jet to be a cauſe, otherways than by the 
effect produeed. But with regard to things 
cauſed or produced, the cale is very diffe- 
rent. For we. can diſcover an object to be 
an eſſect, after the cauſe is removed, or when 
it is not at all ſeen. For inſtance, no one 
is at 2 loſs to ſay, that a table or a chair is 
an effe&t produced. A child will ask, who 


made it? We 'perceive every event, every 
new 


3 


IDEA OF POWER. 295 
new object, to be an effect or production, the 
very conception of which involves the idea of 
2 cauſe. Hence the maxim, That nothing 
can fall out, nothing begin to exiſt, without 
« 2 cauſe;” in other words, That every thing 
* which begins to exiſt muſt have a cauſe: a 
maxim univerſally recogniſed, and admitted 
by all mankind as ſelf-evident, Nor can 
this be attributed to experience. The feel- 
ing is original, regarding ſingular objects 
and events, the cauſes of which are utterly 
unknown, not leſs than objects and events, 
which depend upon familiar cauſes. Chil- 
dren and ruſticks are conſcious of this feel- 
ing, equally with thoſe who have the moſt 
conſummate experience of nature, and its 


— A. 


FURTHER, the perception we have of a- 


ny object, as an effect, includes in it the feel- 
ing of a cauſe proportioned to the effect. If 
the object be an effect properly adapted to 
ſome end, the perception of it neceſſarily in · 

cludes 


* See the eſſay upon liberty and neceſſity, pag. 88. 


—— 


296 IDEAOF POWER 


cludes an intelligent deſigning cauſe. If the 
effect be ſome good end brought about by 
proper means, the perception neceſſarily in- 
cludes a deſigning and benevolent cauſe, 


Nor is it in our power, by any. ſort of con- 


ſtraint, to vary theſe feelings, or to give 
them a different modification from what they 
have by nature. It may be in our power to 
conceive, but it is not in our power to believe, 
that a fine piece of painting, a well wrote 
poem, or a beautiful piece of architecture, 
can ever be the effe& of chance, or of blind 
fatality. The ſuppoſition, indeed, ſo far as 
we can diſcover, does not involve any incon- 
ſiſtency in the nature of things. It may be 
poſſible, for any reaſon we have to the con- 
trary, that a blind and undeſigning cauſe 
may be productive of excellent effects. But 
our ſenſes diſcover, what reaſon does not, 
that every object, which appears beautiful as 


ddapted to an end or purpoſe, is the effect of 
a deſigning cauſe; and that every object, 


which appears beautiful as fitted to a good 


end or an is the effect of a deſigning 
cauſe; 


IDEA OF POWER. 27 


cauſe; and that every object, which ap- 


pears beautiful as fitted to a good end or 
purpoſe, is the effect of a deſigning and 


benevolent cauſe. We are ſo conſtituted, 


that we can entertain no doubt of this, if 


we would. And, ſo far as we gather from 
experience, we are not deceiv'd. 


Pp ESSAY 


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ss 4 v V. 


Of our KnowLzDes of FUTURE 
EVENTS. 


HILE we are tied to this * 
ſome knowledge of the beings around 
us, ad of their operations, is neceſſary ; 
becauſe, without it, we ſhould be utterly at 
a loſs how to conduct ourſelves. © This ſub- 
ject is bandled in two former eſſays. But 
were our knowledge limited to this ſubjeR, 
it would not be ſufficient for our well-be- 
ing, and ſcarce for our preſervation. It is 
likeways neceſſary, that we have ſome know- 
ledge of future events; for about theſe we 
are moſtly employed. A man will not ſow, 
if he has not a proſpect of reaping: he will 
not build a houſe; if he has not ſome ſecuri- 
ty, chat it will ſtand firm for years. Man is 
poſſeſt of this valuable branch of know 
ledge: he can foretel future events. There 
is no doubt of the fact. The difficulty on- 
ly is, what are the means employed in mak- 

ing 


| 
| 
| 
1 
i 
| 
1 
| 


300 KNOWLEDGEOPF 

ing the diſcovery. It is, indeed, an eſtabliſh- 
ed maxim, that the courſe of nature con- 
tinues uniformly the ſame ; and that things 
will be as they have been. But, from what 
premiſes we draw this concluſion, is not ob- 
vious.. Uniformity in the operations of na- 


ture, with regard to time paſt, 1 is diſcovered 
by experience. But of future time, having 


no experience, the maxim aſſuredly cannot 
be derived from that ſource. Neither will 
reaſon. help us out. It is true, the produc- 
tion of one thing by another, even in a ſingle 
inſtance, implies a power; and this power 


s neceſſarily connected with its effe&. But 


as power is an internal property, not diſcov- 
erable but by the effects produced, we can 
never, by any chain of reaſoning, conclude, 
power to be in any body, except in the in- 
{tant of operation. The power, for ought 
we know, may be at an end from that very 
inſtant. We cannot ſo much as conclude, 
from any deduction of reaſon, that this 
earth, the ſun, or any one being, will cxiſt 
to-morrow, And, ſuppoſing their future ex- 
| iſtence 


* 


FUTURE EVENTS. 30 
iſtence to be diſcoverable by reaſon, we are 
not ſo much acquainted with the nature or 
eſſence of any one thing, as to diſcover 2 
neceſſary connection betwixt it and its pow- 
ers, that the one ſubſiſting, the other muſt 
alſo ſubſiſt. There is nothing ſo eaſy to con- 
ceive, as that che moſt active being, ſhall at 
at once be deprived of all its activity: and a 
thing that may be conceived, can never be 
proved inconſiſtent or impoſſible. An ap- 
peal to paſt experience, will not carry us 
through. The ſun has afforded us light and 
heat from the beginning of the world. But 
what reaſon have we to conclude, that its 
power of giving light and heat muſt conti- 
nue; when it is as eaſy to conceive powers 
to be limited in point of time, as to con- 
cecive them perpetual? If to help us out 
here, we have recourſe to the wiſdom and 
goodneſs of a Supreme Being, as eſtabliſhing 
permanent general laws; the difficulty is, 
that we have no Data, from whence to 
conclude, in the way of reaſoning, that theſe 
general laws muſt continue fnvariably the 
| fame 


* KNOWLEDGE OF 
| fime without endl It i 18 true, the concluſi· 


on is actually made, but it muſt be referred 
to ſome other ſource. For reaſoning will 
not aid us, more than experience does, to 
draw any one concluſion, from paſt to fu- 
rife events. It is certain, at the fame time; 
that the uniformity of nature's operations, 
is a maxim admitted by all mankind. Tho 
altogether unaſliſted either by reaſon or ex- 


perienee, we never have the leaſt heſitatioon 


to conclude, that things will be as they have 
been; in ſb much that we truſt our lives 
and fortunes upon this concluſion. I ſhall 
endeavour to trace out the ptineiple, upon 
which this important concluſion is founded. 
And this ſubject will afford, tis hoped, 4 
freſh inſtance of the admirable correſpond 


enee, which is diſcovered betwixtthenature of 
man, and his external circumſtances. ' What 
is already made out, will lead us directly to 


our point. If our conviction of the unifor- 
mity of nature, is not founded upon reaſon 
nor experience, it ean have no other foun- 
dation but ſenſe and feeling. The fact tru- 
CEL N ly 


FUTURE EVENTS. 303 
ly is, that we are ſo conſtituted, as, by a ne- 
ceſſary determination of nature, to transfer 
our paſt experience to futurity, and to have 
a direct perception or feeling of the conſtan- 
cy and uniformity of nature. This percep- 
tion or feeling muſt belong to an internal 
ſenſe, becauſe it evidently has no relation to 
any of our external ſenſes. And an argument, 
which has been more than once ſtated in the 
foregoing eſſays, will be found deciſive up- 
on this point. Let us ſuppoſe a being, which 
has no perception or notion of the unifor- 
mity of nature: ſuch a being will never be 
able to transfer its paſt experience to futuri- 
ty. Every event, however conformable to 
paſt experience, will come equally unexpect- 
to us; tho' "poſſibly withane the ſame ſur- 
priſe, | | 


TREVOR 22 i CI (94450824, Rift 
_ Tais ſenſe of conſtancy and uniformity 
in the works of nature, is not confined to 
the ſubject above handled, but diſplays it» 


ſelf, b. upon many other objects, 
We 


30% KNOWLEDOE OT 


We have a conwiction of a common nature 

in beings, which are ſimilar in their appear- 

ances. We expect a likeneſs in their conſti- 
tuent parts, in their appetites, and in their 
conduct. We not only lay our account with 
uniformity of behaviour, in the fame indivi- 
dual, ' but in all the individuals of the ſame 
ſpecies. This principle has ſuch influence, 
as even to make us hope for conſtancy and 
uniformity, where experience would lead us 
to the oppolite concluſion. The rich man 
never thinks of poverty, nor the diſtreſſed 
of relief. Even in this variable climate, we 
cannot Teadily bring ourſelves to believe, 
that good or bad weather will have an end. 
Nay, it governs our notions in law-matters, 
and is the foundation of the maxim, «© That 
« alteration or change of circumſtances is 
© not to be preſumed.” Influenced by the 
ſame principle, every man acquires a certain 
uniformity of manner, which fpreads itſelf 
upon his thoughts, words and actions. In 

our younger years, the effe& of this princi- 
1 is leſs remarkable, being oppoſed by a 
ä variety 


815 „* 


FUTURE EVENTS. 305 
variety of. paſſions, which, as they have dif- 
ferent, and ſometimes oppoſite tendencies; 
occaſion a fluctuation in our conduct. But? 
ſo ſoon as the heat of youth is over, this 
principle, acting without counter- balance, 
ſeldom fails to bring on a punctual regulari- 
ty in our way of living, which is extremely 
remarkable in moſt old people. 


ANALOGY is one of the moſt common 
ſources of reaſoning ; the force of which is 
univerſally admitted. The conviction of e- 
very argument founded on analogy, ariſes 
from this very ſenſe of uniformity. Things 
ſimilar, in ſome particulars, are preſumed to 
be ſimilar i in every N 


In a word, as the bulk of our views and 
actions have a future aim, ſome knowledge 
of future events is neceſſary, that we may a- 
dapt our views and actions to natural events. 
To this end, the Author of our nature has 
done two things. He has eſtabliſhed a con- 
ſtancy and uniformity in the operations of 

Q q nature. 


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66 RNOWLED GE. OF, &: 
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| Of our DxzaD of Siren dat on i 
HPoWERs in abe DARK. 


Fa * 
20 


VERY flight view of human nature is 
ſufficient to convince us, that we were 

not dropt here by accident. This earth is 
fitted for man, and man is fitted for inhabit- 
ing this earth. By means of inſtinctive fa- 
culties, we have an intuitive knowledge of the 
things that ſurround us; at leaſt of ſuch 
things by which we may be affected. We can 
diſcover objects at a diſtance. We diſcern 
them in their connection of cauſe and effect; 
and their future operations are laid open, as 
well as their preſent. But in this grand ap- 
paratus of inſtinctive faculties, by which the 
ſecrets of nature are diſcloſed to us, one fa- 
culty ſeems to be with-held ; tho' in appear- 
ance the moſt uſeful of all ; and that is, /a 
faculty to diſcern, what things are noxious, 
and what. are friendly. The moſt poiſon- 


ous s fruits have ſometimes the fairelt colours ; 
and 


393 DREAD OF SUPERNATURAL 

and the ſavage. animals partake of beauty 
with the tame and harmleſs. And when 
other particulars are inquir'd into, it will be 
Found, by induction, that man has no origi- 
nal feeling of what is 1 to mw and 
Ages: 1 W ** 


1 is ane to e ink this infins | 
| 15 with-held, when it appears to be the de- 
ſign of nature, to furniſh us plentifully with 
inſtincts, for the diſcovery of uſeful truths. 
With regard to this matter, it is too bold an 
undertaking for man to dive into all the ſecrets 
of his maker. We ought to reſt contented 
with the numerous inſtances we have of 
good order and good purpoſe, which muſt 
afford us a rational conviction, that good or- 
der and good purpoſe: take plaee univerſal- 
ly. At the ſame. time, a rational account 
may be ſuggeſted of this matter. We have 
a conviction, that there is nothing redun- 
dant or ſuperfſuous in the operations of na- 
ture. Different means are never afforded us 
to bring about the ſame end. Experience, 
ſo 


1+ POWERS IN THE Dakk. 30g 
ſo far as it can go, is given us for acquiring 
knowledge; and inſtin& only, where expe- 
rience cannot aid us. is true, inſtinct is a 
more compendious way of diſcovering uſe- 
ful truths. But man was intended an active 
being, and therefore left to his own induſtry, 
as. much as poſlible. 


Max then is placed in this world, amidſt a 
great variety of objects, the nature and ten- 
dency of which are unknown to him, other- 
ways than by experience. In this ſituation, 
he would be in perpetual danger, had he not 
ſome faithful monitor, to keep him conſtant- 
ly upon the watch againſt harm. This ma- 
nitor is the propenſity he has to be afraid of 
new objects; ſuch eſpecially which have no 
peculiar beauty to raiſe his deſire. A child, 
to whom all nature is ſtrange, dreads the ap- 
proach of every object; and even the face 
of man is frightful to it. The ſame timidity 
and ſufpicion may be obſerved in travellers, 
who converſe with ſtrangers, and meet with 
unknown appearances. Upon the firſt ſight of 
an 


310 DREAD! OF OF 'SUPERNATURAL 


an herb or fruit, we apprehend the worſt, and 
ſaſpettir to be noxious. An unknown ani- 
mal is immediately conceived to be dange- 
rons, The more rare phænomena of na- 
ture, the cauſes of which are unknown to 
the vulgar, never fail to ſtrike them with 
terror. From this induction, it is clear, that 
we dread unknown objects. They are al- 
ways ſurveyed with an emotion of fear, till 
| hs ogy diſcovers ad to be Jon oat 


Turs dread of ene objeats, f is fops 
poſed to enter into the conſtitution of all ſen- 
fitive beings, but is moſt remarkable in the 
weak and defenceleſs, The more feeble and 
delicate the creature is, the more ſhy and ti- 

morous it is obſerved to be. No creature i 
by nature, more feeble and delicate — 


man; and this principle is to him of admir- 


able uſe, to keep him conſtantly upon his 
guard, and to balance the principle of curi- 
ofity, which is prevalent in man above all o- 
cher creatures, and which, left to itſelf, would 
often betray him into fatal accidents. 
80 Tux. 


POWER IN THE DARK. 311 
Tur dread of unknown objects is apt to 
fire the imagination, ſo as to magnify their 
ſuppoſed evil qualities and iendencies. For 
it is a well known truth, that paſſion has a 
. wonderful effect upon the imagination. The 
leſs we know of a new object, the greater N- 
berty we take, to dreſs it up in frightful co- 
lours. The object is forthwith conceived 
to have all thoſe dreadful qualities, which are 
ſuggeſted by the imagination; and the ſame 
terror is raiſed, as if thoſe qualities were e real 
aan ie el 


AGAIN, adi the new 1 en 
objects have any thing dreadful in appear- 
ance, this circumſtance, joined with our na- 


tural: propenſity to dread unknown objects, 


will raiſe terror even in the moſt: refolute; If 


the evils, dreaded from ſuch objects, are 
known'neither in quality nor degree; the i- 
magination, being under no reſtraint, figures 
the greateſt evils, both in kind and magni- 
tude, that can be conceived. Where no im- 
mediate harm enſues, the mind, by the im- 


* 
® Sce eſſay upon belief, 


312 DREAD OF SUPERNATURAL 


pulſe it has received, tranſports ĩtſelf into fu- 
turity, and imagines the ſtrange forms to be 
preſages of direful calamities. Hence it is, 
that the uncommon phznomena of nature; 
ſuch as comets, eclipſes, earthquakes, ind 
the like, are, by the vulgar, held as forerun- 
ners of uncommon events. Grand objects 
make a deep impreſſion upon the mind, and 
| give force to that paſſion which occupies it at 
the time. The above appearances being un- 
common, if not altogether new, diſpoſe the 
mind to terror; which, aided by the emotion 
ariſing from the grandeur of the objects, 
produces great agitation, and a n. eppre⸗ | 
Ren ww danger. ; | 


_ _ Tre ſtrongeſt and moſt familiar inſtance 
of our natural propenſity to dread unknown 
objects, is the fear that ſeizes many young 
perſons in the dark; which is a phænomenon 
that has not been accounted for, with any de- 
_ gree of ſatisfaction. Light diſpoſes the mind 
to chearfulneſs and courage. Darkneſs, on 
the contrary, depreſſes the mind, and diſpoſes 
. it 


_ - - POWERS IN THE DARK. 313 
it to fear. Any object alarms the mind, 
when it is already prepared by darkneſs, to 
receive impreſſions of fear. The object, which, 
in the dark, is ſeen but obſcurely, leaves the 
heated imagination at full liberty, to beſtow 
upon it the moſt dreadful appearance. This 
phantom of the imagination, conceived as a 
reality, unhinges the mind, and throws it 
Into a fit of diſtraction. The imagination, 
now heated to the higheſt degree, multiplies 
the dreadful appearances to the utmoſt 
bounds of its conception. The object be- 
comes a ſpectre, a devil, a hobgoblin, ſome- 
thing more terrible than ever was ſeen or 
deſcribed. 5 


A VERY few accidents of this kind, having 
ſo powerful an effect, are ſufficient to intro- 
duce an aſſociation between darkneſs and 
malignant powers. And when once this aſſo- 
ciation is formed, there is no occaſion for 
the appearance of an object to create terror. 
Frightful ideas croud into the mind, and aug- 
ment the fear, which is occaſioned by dark- 
neſs. The imagination becomes ungovern- 

Rr . able, 


314 DREAD OF SUPERNATURAL 
able, and converts theſe ideas into real ap- 


eri nein 
. THAT the terror occaſioned by darkneſs, 
is entirely owing to the operations of the i- 
magination, will be evident from a ſingle re- 
flection, that in company no ſuch eſſect ĩs 
. A companion can afford no ſe- 
_ curity againſt ſupernatural powers, But a 
companion has the lame effect with ſun- 
ſhine, to chear the mind, and preſerve it 
from gloomineſs and deſpondency. The ir 
magination is thereby kept within bounds, 
and under due ſubjection to ſenſe and reaſon. 


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127 1 1 9 2 ; 


ESSAY, VII. 
2 K ow DoE of the ITESS 


H E arguments a Seniors for the exiſt. 
ence and attributes of the Deity, are 
urged, with the greateſt ſhew of reaſon, in 
the ſermons. preached at Boyle's lectures. 
But the ſermons upon this ſubject, tho they 
command my ſtricteſt attention, never have 
gained my heart. On the contrary, they al- 


of which I have been ata loſs to diſcover, tho 
now I imagine I can explain it. Such deep me- 
taphyſical reaſoning, if it afford any convicti- 


on, is ſurely not adapted to the vulgar and illi- 


terate. Is the knowledge of God, then, reſerv- 
ed for perſons of great ſtudy and deep think- 


ing? Isa vail thrown over the eyes of the reſt 


of mankind? This thought always returned 
upon me, and gave me pain. If there really 

exiſts a being, who made, and who governs 
the world; and, if it be his purpoſe to diſ- 


play himſelf to his rational creatures; it is 


not 


$ 5 


ways give me a ſenſible uneaſineſs; the cauſe 


316 O URKNOWLEDGE 
not conſiſtent with any idea we can form of 
the power and wiſdom of this being, that 
his-purpoſe ſhould be defeated ; which plain- 
ly ĩs che caſe, in a great meaſure, if he is on- 
hy to be diſcovered, and but obſeurely, by a 
very {mall part of mankind. At the ſame 
time, to found our knowledge of the Dei- 
ty ſolely upon reaſoning, is not agreeable to 
the analogy of nature. We are not left to 
gather our duty by abſtract reaſoning, nor 
indeed by any reaſoning. It is engraved up- 
on the table of our hearts. We adapt our 
actions to the courſe of nature, by mere in- 
ſtin&, without reaſoning, or even experience. 
Therefore, if we can truſt to analogy, we 
ought to expect, that God will diſcover him- 
ſelf to us, in ſome ſuch manner, as may take 
in all mankind, the vulgar and illiterate, as 
well as nn _— PO 


| Ar theſe abſiruſe ene nee are 
reliſned by the learned and ſpeculative, tis 
ſo far well. I cannot help acknowledging, 
that they afford me no conviction, at kaſt, 


. 


7 OF THE'DEITY. 317 
no ſolid and permanent conviction. We 
know little about the nature of things, but 
what we learn from a ſtrict attention to our 
own nature. That nothing can begin to 
exiſt without a cauſe, is ſufficiently evident 
from ſenſe and feeling *. But that this can 
be demonſtrated by any argument à priori, 
drawn from the nature of things, I have not 
obſerved +. And if demonſtration fail us 
in the very outſetting, we cannot hope for 
its aſſiſtance in the after ſteps. If any one 
being can begin to exiſt without a cauſe, e- 
very being may; upon which ſuppoſition, 
we never can hope for a demonſtration, that 
any one being muſt be eternal. But, if this 
difficulty ſhall be ſurmounted, we have ano- 
ther to ſtruggle with. Admitting that ſome- 
thing has. exiſted from all eternity, I'find 
no Data to determine à priori, whether this 
world has exiſted of itſelf from all eternity, 
in a conſtant ſucceſſion of cauſes and ef- 
fects; or whether it be an effect produced 

| 5 
»gee the eſſay of our idea of power, towards the cloſe. 


T See the ſame eſſay at the beginning. 
* 


318 OURRNOWLE DGE 

by an Almighty Power. It is indeed hard 
to conceisYe a world eternal and ſelf- exiſtent, 
where all chings are carried on by blind fate, 
without deſign or intelligence. And yet 1 
can find no demonſtration to the contrary. 
H we can form any obſcure notion of one 
intelligent being, exiſting from all eternity, it 
appears not more difficult to form a notion 
of a ſucceſſion of beings, with or without 
intelligence; or a notion of a perpetual ſuc- 
n of cauſes and effects. 


Ix ſhort, difficulties preſs both ways. But, 
| theſe difficultics, when examined, do not a- 
riſe from any inconſiſtency in our ideas. 
T hey are occaſioned, merely, by the limit- 
ed capacity of the mind of man. We can- 
not comprehend an eternity of exiſtence. 
It js too bulky an object. It eludes our 
graſp. The mind is like the eye. It can- 
not take i in an object that is very great or 
very little. This, plainly is the ſource of 
our di fficulties, when we attempt ſpeculati- 
ons ſo remote from common apprehenſion. 


Abſtract realoning _ ſuch a ſubject, muſt 
lead 


A Of THE DEI T . 319 
lead into endleſs perplexities. It is indeed 
leſs difficult to conceive one eternal un- 
| changeable being who made the world, than 
to conceive a blind chain of cauſes and cf 
fects. At leaſt, we are diſpoſed to the for- 
mer, as being more agreeable to the imagi- 
nation, But as we cannot find any incon- 
ſiſtency in the latter ſuppoſition, we cannot 
juſtly hy l it is demonſtrably falſe. 


* Grvs me leave to add, that a, out 
ſuch abſtruſe and intricate ſpeculations into 
any clear and perſuaſive light, is at any rate 
ſcarce to be expected. And if, after the 
utmoſt ſtraining, they remain obſeure and 
vnaffecting, it is evident to me, that they 
muſt have a bad tendency. Perſons of a 
peeviſh and gloomy caſt of mind, finding 
no conviction from that quarter, will be for- 
tified in their propenſity to believe that all 
things happen by blind chance; that there 
is no wiſdom, ordet or harmony in the go- 
vernment of this world; and ronloquentFp 
that there 1 is no God. 


Nine 


320 OUR KNOWLEDGE 


| BEING therefore little ſallligitous about ar- 
| guments « a priori, for the exiſtence of a Deity, 
which are not proportioned to the capacity 
of man, I apply myſelf with zeal and chear- 
fulneſs, to ſearch for the Deity in his works; 
for by theſe we muſt diſcover him, if he 
has thought proper to make himſelf known. 
And the better to manage the i inquiry, I 
ſhall endeavour to make out three propoſi- 
"tions; 1f,, That if there is a being who i Is 
the maker and governor of 'the world, it is 
agrecable to any notions we, can form of his 
government, that he ſhould make ſome diſ- 
covery of himſelf to his intelligent creatures. 
adh, That in fact he has done ſo. And 
zah, That he has done ſo in a manner a- 
greeable to the nature of man, and analo- 
gous to his other operations, 25 I 


Turkz certainly canndt be a more diſ- 
couraging thought to man, than that the 
world was formed by a fortuitous concourſe 
of atoms, and that all things are carried on 
by blind impulſe. Upon that ſuppoſition, 

r * 


-OF THE DEITY. © 227 
he can have no ſecurity for his life; nor for 
his continuing to be à moral agent and an 
intelligent creature, even for à moment. 
Things have been earried on witli regularity 
and order. But chance may, in an inſtant, 
throw all things into the moſt horrid and 
diſmal confuſton. We can have no ſolid com- 
fort in virtue, when it is 4 work of mere 
chance; nor can we juſtify our reliance up- 
on the falth df others, hen the nature of 
mam feſts upon ſo precarious à foundation.” 
Every thing muſt appar glootty; diſmal and 
disjottited, without à Deity” ts unite this” 
world of belbg& into one beautiful and Har- 
motiious ſyſtem. © Theſe conſiderations; and 
many more that will occur upon the firſt re- 
flection, afford a very ſtrong conviction, if 
there is a wiſe and 60d Being; who fibers” f 
intends the affairs of this world, that he will 
not conceal himſelf from kis rafibnal rea. 
tures.” Can any thing be more * deſirable, or 
mote ſubſtantially uſeful, than to know, that | 
chere is a Being from whom nd ſecrets are 
n to whom our good works are acceptable, 
81 and 


322: OURIRNOWLEDGE 
and even the good purpoſes of our hearts; 
and vhoſe government, directed by wiſdom 
and benevolence; ought to make us reſt ſe- 
cute; that: nothing docs or will fall out, but 
according; ate good order? This ſentiment, 
woted in the mind, is an antidote. to all 
mündeten bent 317 Tf is is at beſt buys 
edafalen and ane ur 
"11 on if 9% 11592 1600 
Ad Abit leads, 10 2 differcnt n 
on, Which makes our knowledge of a bene- 
volent Peity of the greateſt importance to 
us.! Tho! natural and moral evil are far 
from'prevailing in this world, yet fo much 
of boch is ſcattered over the face of things, 
as to create ſome degree of doubt, whether 
there may not be a mixture of ehance, or of 
ill-witl, inthe government of this world. But, 
dance ſuppoſing the ſuperintendency of a good 
being, theſe evils are no longer conſidered 
as ſuch, A man reſtrains himſelf from un- 


lawful pleaſures, tho the reſtraint gives him 
pain. But then he dees not 'confider this 
pain, as an evi] to;repine at. He ſubmits to 
Bua 9 3 


929 


"OF THE'DEITY. zz 
it voluntarily and with ſatisfaction, as one 
does to grief for the loſs of a friend; being 
conſcious that it is rigbt and ſit for him to 
beſo affected. In the ſame manner, he ſub- 
mits to all the evils of this life. Having con- 
fidence in the good government of the De- 
ky, he is perſuaded that every thing hap- 
pens for the beſt, and therefore that it is 
his duty to ſubmit to whatever happens. 
This unfolds a ſcene ſo enlivening, and ſo 
productive of chearfulneſs and good hu- 
mour, that we cannot readily think, if there 
is a benevolent Deity, that he will with-hold 
from his creatures 19 unn A bleſſing... 


ac bu 15 3000 
MN, at che ſame time, by: his taſte for 
beauty, regularity and order, is fitted for 
contemplating the wiſdom and goodneſs diſ- 
played in the frame and government of this 
world. Theſe are proper objects of ad- 
miration and joy, It is not agteeable to 
the ordinary courſe of nature, that man 
ſhould be endowed with an afſection, with, 
out having a proper object to beſtow. it up- 
"Hi OG aa On. 


r . e 


324 OUR KNOWLEDGE 
on. And as the ptovidence of the Deity is 
the higheſt abject of this afſection, it would 


be — e en N r 


* 71 | ' 
Tx als "1 I Fadmit; are 18 ann 6 
PR believing; that, if there is a benevolent 
Deity, it muſt be his intention to manifeſt 
himſelf to his creatures: but they carry a ve- 
ry high degree of probability, which leaves 
little room for doubt. At the ſame time, tho 
it ſnould be our fate, to ſearch in vain for 
this object of our affedtion, we ought not 
however to deſpair, atid, in that deſpair; to 
conclude there is no God. Let us but re- 
flect, that he has not manifeſted himſelf to 
all his creatures. The brutes appatently 
know nothing of him! And ſhould we be 


diſappointed in this ſearch; the worlt we can 


corichude; Is, that for good and wiſe purpoſ- 
es, which we cannot dive into, he has 
thought proper to with- hold himſelf alſo 


from us. We certainly have no reaſon to 


amen our ignorance into an argument 
againſt 


OF THE DEITY, © 325 
againſt his exiſtence. Our ignorance brings 
us only a ſtep lower, and puts us; ſo e 
on a footing with the brute creation. 


THE ſecond and important buche + our 
diſquiſition, is, to aſcertain this fact, that 
there is a Deity, and that be has manifeſted 
himſelf to us, I requeſt only attention of 
my reader, and not any unreaſonable s con- 
ceſſion. In a former eſſay *, two propoſitions 
are made out. The firſt is, that every ching 
which has a beginning, i is perceived as a pro- 
duction or Hell, which neceſſarily inyolves . 
the idea of a cauſe. The ſecond, that, we 
neceſſarily transfer to the cauſe, whatever of 
contrivance or deſign is diſcovered in the ef- 
fect. Conliderjng a houſe, garden, picture 
or Name | in itſelf, it is perceived as beauti- 

ful. If We attend to theſe objects in 2 diffe· | 
rent view, As things haying a beginning, we. 
perceive 4 to be effects, involving the is 
dea of a cauſe. | It again we conſider them 

as artfully, egptrived to anſwer certain pur- 
poles, we Perceive. 1 them to be the workman⸗ 
ſhip 


v Df our idea of power. 


326 OUR KNOWLEDGE 
ftp of ſome perſon of skill. Nor are we 
deceived in theſe pereeptions. Upon exami- 
nation, we find, that they 2 5 to rutly 
Tarr N 

Box not only are theſe ic objees perceived 
& effects, which we afterwards learn, from 
experience, to be the production of man. 
Natural objects, fuch as plants and animals, 
48 well as all other objects which once were 
not, are alſo perceived as effects, or as the 
production of ſome cauſe. The queſtion 
Will always recur, how came it here? who 
made * what is iy exuſe wh its exiſtence? 


1 ot iD "4 44.34 $3444 4 ot e 1 * * 1 


Wü are blaſted 6 buthai arts, that 
every work of defign and uſe will be attri- 
buted to man. But what if it exceed his 
known powers and faculties? This ſuppoſi- 
tion does not alter the nature of our feel- 
ings; but only leads us to a different cauſe, 
and, in place of man, to determine upon 
ſome ſuperior power. If the object be con- 
| ſidered as an — neceſſarily involves the 


(jb 3 idea 


idea of a cauſe. And the cauſe cannot be 
man, i if the object of our perception be an 
effect far ſurpaſſing the power of man. This 
train of thinking leads us directly to our 
point. - Attend but to the anatomy of the 
meanelt plant: ſo much of art and of curt- 
ous mechaniſm, is. diſcovered. in it, that it 
muſt be the production of ſome cauſe, far 
ſurpaſſing the power and intelligence of man. 
The ſcene opens more and more, when, paſ-, 
ſing from plants to animals, we come to man, 
the moſt wonderful of all the works of na- 
ture. And when, at laſt, we take in, at one 
view, the natural and moral world, full of 
harmony, order and beauty; happily ad- 
juſted in all its parts to anſwer great and glo- 
rious purpoſes; there is, in this grand pro: 
duction, neceſſarily involved, the perception 
of a cauſe, -— ron e en 


"Tay; us it cis hi _— Deity has 2 
himſelf to us, by the means of principles 
wrought 1 into our nature, which muſt infal- 

_- libly 


#3 O UK KNOWLEDGE 
liblycoperate} upon viewing obfedts in theik | 
rehrionof tauſe and effect. We diſtover ex- 
wha] odge by heir qualitiey:of colour, 
ſigurep ſiae and motion: In the perception 

_ of thefe qualities, connectell after 4 certain; 

manner ivcomprehended, the feeling of the 
ſübſtanccor tiug to wih theſei qualities be- 
long. HA tlie lame time, we; perceive this 
ſubſta nee or thing, ſuppoſing it to have u be- 

ginging of / exiſtende tobe an effect produ- 

ccd byſome cauſe; aud we perceive the pow- 
coat properties of this: cauſe from its ef- 

feet. 10 If there i an Aptitude in the effect to 
ſbnb end, v aitributè to the eauſe, intelli- 

gence anf deſigut If the effet produced 

be ſome thing that is good in atſelf, or that 

Has tendeney to ſome good end or pupoſe, 

we'rthfibitte goodies to the cauſe, as welt 

45 intelligence and deſign. And this we do, 

not by any proceſs of reaſoning? but merely 
by perception and feeling. The Deity has 
nöt left his exiſtence to bè gathefed from ſſip- 
pery' and far fetched arguments. We have 

dlir to open out eyes; to —— 
1211 | o 


- DF THE DEITY. 329 
of him almoſt from every thing we perceive, 
We diſcover his being and attributes, in 
the fame manner that we diſcover external 
objects. We have but to appeal to our own | 
perceptions-; and none but thoſe, who are ſo 
ſtubbornly hypothetical, as to. deny the exiſt- 
ence of matter, againſt the evidence of their 
ſenſes, can, ſeriouſſy and deliberately, deny 
tlic exiſtence of the Deity. In ſine, there is 
a wonderful harmony eſtabliſhed betwixt 
our perceptions and the courſe of nature. 
We truſt to our perceptions, for the exiſtence 
of external objects, and their paſt, preſent 
and. future operation. We truſt to theſe. 
perceptions by the neceſſity of our nature, 
and, upon experience, ſind ourſelves not de- 
ceiyed. Our petception of the Deity, is as 
diſtinct and authoritative, as that of external 
objects. And tho here, we cannot have ex- 
perience to appeal to, the want of experi- 
ence. can never afford. an argument againſt 
the authority of any perception, where, from 
the nature of the thing, there can be no ex- 
perience. It is ſufficient for conviction, that 

3 Te 1 our 


330 OUR KNOWLEDGE 
our perceptions in general correſpond to the 


wuth of things, wherever there is an oppor- 


- tunity to try them by experience; and there- 
fore, we can have no cauſe to doubt of our 


perceptions in any caſe, where they are not 
contradicted by experience. 


So fir ihe Deity is diſcorerable, by every 


85 perſon who. goes but one ſtep beyond the 


ſurface of things, and their mere exiſtence. 
We may indeed behold the earth in its gayeſt 
dreſs, the heavens in all their glory, without 
having any perception, other than that of 
beauty, ſomething in theſe objects that plea- 
ſes and delights us. Many paſs their lives, 
brutiſhly involved in the groſs pleaſures of 
ſenſe, without having any feeling, at leaſt, 
any ſtrong or permanent feeling, of the Dei- 
ty; and poſſibly, this in general is the caſe 
of ſavages, before they are humanized by ſo- 
ciety and government. But the Deity can- 
not be long a ſecret from thoſe who are ac- 

cuſtomed to any degree of reflection. No 


ſooner are we enabled to reliſh beauties of 


OF THE DEITY. 331 
the ſecond and third claſs &; no ſooner do 
we acquire a taſte for regularity, order, de- 
ſign, and good purpoſe, than we begin to per- 
ceive the Deity, in the beauty of the opera- 
tions of nature. Savages who have no con- 
ſiſtent rule of conduct, who act by the blind 
impulſe of paſſion and appetite, and who 
have only a glimmering of the moral ſenſe, 
are but ill qualified to diſcover the Deity in 
his works. If they have little or no percep- 
tion of a juſt tenor of life, of the dignity of 
behaviour, and of the beauty of action, how 
ſhould they perceive the beauty of the works 
of creation, and the admirable harmony of 
all the parts, in the great ſyſtem of things? 
Being conſcious of nothing but diſorder and 
| ſenſual impulſe within, they cannot be con- 
ſcious of any thing better without them. 
Society teaches mankind ſclf-denial, and im- 
proves the moral ſenſe. Diſciplined in ſo- 
ciety, the taſte for order and regularity un- 
folds itſelf by degrees. The ſocial affecti- 


Ons 


CE See the eſſay upon the foundation and principles of the | 
law of nature, 


332 OURKNOWLEDGE 

ons gain the aſcendant, and the morality of 
actions gets firm poſſeſſion of the mind. In 
this improved ſtate, the beauty of the erea - 
tion makes a ſtrong impreſſion and, we can 
never ceaſe admiring the excellency of that 
cauſe, who is the author of ſo many beautiful 
effects. And thus, to ſociety we owe all the 
bleſſings of life, and, particularly, the know - 
ledge of the Deity, that moſt ineſtimable | 
ber of aria err 


GAR we „ gone no Rütber, 
than to point out the means by which we 
diſcoyer the Deity, and his attributes of pow 
er, wiſdom and goodneſs. So far are we 
carried by thoſe wonderful principles in our 
nature, which diſcoyer the connection be- 
twixt cauſe and effoct, and from the ef- 
fect diſcover the powers and properties of 
the eauſe, But there is one attribute of 
the Supreme Belng, of the moſt eſſential 
kind, which remains to be unfolded. It is, 
what commonly paſſes under the name of 


| PIT that he muſt have exiſted for 
ever; 


"OF THE DEITY. 333 
ever; and conſequently, that he cannot be 
conſidered as an effect, to require a cauſe of 
his exiſtence; but, on the contrary, withour 
being cauſed, that, mediately, or * 
ly, he is the cauſe of all other things. 
principle, we have had occaſion; more — 
once, to mention, will make this evident, 
ſez. that nothing can begin to exiſt with 
out a cauſe. Every thing which comes in- 
ro exiſtence; and once was not, is, by a ne- 
ceſſary determination of our nature, perceiv- 
ed as an effect, or as a production; the very 
conception of which, involves an adequate 
cauſe. Now, if every thing has a begin- 
ning, one being, at leaſt, to wit, that which 
firſt came into exiſtence; muſt be an effect or 
production without a cauſe, which is a di- 
rect inconſiſtency. If all beings had a be- 
ginning, there was a time, when the world 
was an abſolute void; upon which ſuppoſi- 
tion, it is intuitively certain, that nothing 
could cyer have come into exiſtence. This 
1 we feel to be true, and our feel- 


ing affords us, in this caſe, a more ſolid con- 
viction, 


334 OUR KNOWLEDGE 
viction, than any demonſtration can do. 
One being, therefore, muſt have exiſted from 
all eternity, who, as he is not an effect or 
production, cannot poſſibly be indebted for 
his exiſtence to any other being. At the 
ſame time, as we can have no foundation 
for ſuppoſing the exiſtence of more eternal 
beings than one, this one being muſt be the 
Deity ;. becauſe, all other beings, mediately, 
or immediately, owe their exiſtence to him. 
All other beings, as they are ſuppoſed to be 
produced in time, muſt have a cauſe of their 
exiſtence, and, by the ſuppoſition, there 
can be no other cauſe but this eternal Being. 
The bulk of mankind, probably, in their no- 
tions of the Deity, ſcarce comprehend this 
attribute of ſelf- exiſtence. A man muſt be 
uſed, a good deal, to abſtract reaſoning, who 
of himſelf diſcovers this truth. But it is not 
difficult to explain it to others, after it is diſ- 
covered. And it deſerves well to be incul- 
cated; for, without it, our knowledge of the 
Deity muſt be extremely imperfect. His 
other attributes of power, wiſdom and good- 
| nels, 


OF THE DEITY. 335 

neſs, are, in ſome meaſure, communicated to 
his creatures; but his attribute of ſelf- exiſ- 
tence makes'the ſtrongeſt oppoſition imagin- 
able, betwixt him and his creatures. 


A FEw words will ſuffice upon the third 
propoſition, which, in a good meaſure, is al- 
ready explained. The effence of the Deity 
is as beyond the reach of our comprehenſi- 

Were he to exhibit himſelf to us, in 
WE day-light, it is not a thing ſuppoſable, 
that he could be reached by any of our ex- 
ternal ſenſes. The attributes of ſelf- exiſtence, 
wiſdom, goodneſs and power, are purely in- 
tellectual. And therefore, ſo far as we can 
comprehend, there are no ordinary means to 
acquire any knowledge of the Deity, but by 
his works. And indeed, by means of that 
ſenſe which diſcovers cauſes from their ef- 
feds, he has manifeſted himſelf to us in a fa- 
tisfatory manner, liable to no doubt nor 
error. And after all, what further evidence 
can we deſire, when the evidence we have 
of his exiſtence is little inferior to that we 

have 


33 OUR KNOWLEDGE 


habe of our own -caiſtence?- Impreſſions of 
perceptions ſerve us for evidence in both caf- 
es Out own exiſtence, indeed, is, of all 
fats, that which: concerns' us moſt; and, 


therefore, of our own exiſtence we ought to 


bay the higheſt certainty. Next to it, we 


have not; as it appears to me, a greater cer- 


tainty of any matter ef fact, than of the ex- 


iſteng of the Deity: ''Tis, at leaft, equal to 


the certalnty we! have of eternal objects, 


and of the eonſtaney and uniformity of the 
operations of nature, upon the faith of 
dien ne Wen of hoop ad} 252 


N 1 77 h 4 Are which hive 
been. urged for the Being and attributes of 
che Deity, are generally defective. Thete 


is atk wanting one link of the chain, to 


that peculiar' principle, upon which is 
benden our knowledge of cauſes and theireſ- 
fects. But the calm perceptions, turning habi- 
mal by en e. are apt to be over- 

| looked 


| en euere 
e b bn s 


OF THE DEIT Y. 337 
looked in our reaſonings. Many a pro- 
poſition is rendered obſcure, by much la- 
boured argument, for the truth of which, 
we need but appeal to our own percepti- 
ons. Thus, we are told, that the frame 
and order of the world, the wiſdom and 
goodneſs diſplayed in every part of it, are 
an evident demonſtration of the Being of 
2 God, I confels, theſe; things afford us 
full conviction of his Being. But, laying a- 
ſide perception and feeling, 1 ſhould be ut- 
terly at a loſs, by any ſort of reaſoning, to 
conclude the exiſtence of any one thing, from - 
that of any other thing. In particular, by 
what proceſs of reaſoning,” can we demon- 
ſtrate this concluſion. to be true, that order 
and beauty muſt needs proceed from a de- 
ſigning cauſe? It is true, the idea of an effect 
involves the idea of a cauſe. But how does 
reafon make out, that the thing we name an 
effect, may not exiſt of itſelf, as well as what 
we name a cauſe? If it be urged, that hu- 
man works, where means are apparently ad- 
juſted to an end, and beauty and order diſ- 


20 U u covered, 


338 SUR KN OWL E DG E 


covered, are always known to be the effects 
of intelligence and deſign. True, they are: 
and as / far as I have experience, I believe the 
fact to be ſo. But, where experience fails 
me, I deſire to know, by what ſtep, what 
link in the chain of reaſoning, am I to con- 
ne& my paſt experience with this inference, 
that in every caſe, I ought to form the ſame 
concluſion! If it be ſaid, that nature prompts 
us to judge of ſimilar inſtances, by former 
experience ʒ this is giving up reaſon, and de- 
monſtration, to appeal to chat very feeling. 
on which, I contend, the evidence of this 
6 poſteriori, may be reſolved into this princi- 
ple; which, no doubt, has had its due influ- 
ence upon the writers who handle the pre- 
ſent ſubject; tho', L muſt be allowed to ſay, 
it has not been explained, nor, perhaps, ſuffi- 
ciently underftood by them; whereby, all of 
-them have been led into the error, of ſtating 
as demonſtrative reaſoning, what is only an 
appeal to our ſenſes. They reafon, for ex- 
gere upon the ehe of- males. and fe- 

males 


"OF THE'DEITY.” 339 
males, and hold the infinite odds againſt this 
equality, to be a demonſtration, that matters 
cannot be carried on by chance. This, con- 
ſidered as mere reaſoning, docs not con- 
clude; for, beſides that chance is infinite in 
its varieties, there may be, ſome blind fata- 
lity, ſome unknown cauſe, in the nature of 
things, which produces this uniformity. But 
tho"'reaſon cannot afford demonſtration in 
this caſe; ſenſe and feeling afford vonviction. 
The equality of males and females, is one 
of the many inſtances which we know and 
feel to be the effects of a deſigning cauſe; 
and of which we can no more entertain a 
doubt; than of out! own exiſtence. The 
fame principle, which unfolds to us the con- 
nection of cauſes and their effects, in the mot 
common events, diſcovers this whole uni- 
verſe to ſtand in the relation of an effect to a 
ſupteme cauſe, } | | 


To ſubſtitute feeling in place of reaſor 
and demonſtration, may ſeem to put the evi- 


dence of the Deity upon too low a footing. 
But 


349 OUR KNOWLEDGE | 

But human reaſon is not ſo mighty, an'affair, 
as philoſophers vainly pretend. It affords very 
little aid, in making original diſcoveries. The 
comparing of things together, and directing 
our infeterices from feeling and experience, 
are its proper province... In this way, reaſon 
gives its aid, to lead us to the knowledge of 
the Deity. It enlarges our views of final eauſ- 
es, and of the prevalenve of wiſdom and good. 
nels. But the application of the argument 
from final canes, to prove the exiſtence of a 
Deity; and the force of our concluſion, from 
beautiful and orderly effects to a deſigning 
cauſe, are not from reaſon, but from an inter- 
nal light, which ſhows things in their relation 
of cauſe and effect. Theſe concluſions reſt en- 
tirely upon ſenſe and feeling; and it is ſur- 
priſing, chat writers ſhould overlook what is 
fa natural, and ſo obvious. But the pride of 
man's heart, makes him deſire to extend his 
diſcoveries, by dint of reaſoning. For reaſon- 
ing is our own work. There is merit in acute- 
neſs and E ; and we are better 

* | pleaſed 


- OF; THE DEITY. 434 


pleaſed, 50 aſſume merit to ourſelves, than 
humbly to acknowledge, that, to the moſt 
important diſcoveries, we are directly led by 
Ben aer of the. 1 1 0 0 27; 119990 975 
7+ J: 19: 1601 Ji 1713 O 2350: KO 
Midas: anfolded that privcpl, upon 
which L would: reſt the moſt important af 
all truths; objections muſt not be oyetlook 
ed, ſuch AS appear to have weight: and I ſhall 
endeavour to give thele objections their 
ſtrongelt effect, which ought to be done in 
every diſpute, and which becomes more ſtrict- 
Y a duty, in handling a ſubject, where truth 
is of the eee t bas 


ens df mil abmtiotin bas mul li: 


enen gn! NG. the above argument on | 
all ſides, Ido not find, t that it can be more 
advantagequſſy combated, than by oppoſing 
to it, the eternity and ſell· exiſtence of the 
world, governed by chance or blind fatality. 
*Tis above admitted to be very difficult, by 
any abſtract reaſoning, to prove the inconſiſ- 
tency of this ſuppoſition. But we feel the 


inconſiſtency; for the frame and conduct of 
| this - 


44>. 0UR'KNOWELEDGE 
this world, contain in them, too much of wil. 
dom, art and foreſight, to admit of the ſup- 
poſition of chance or blind fatality.” We 
are neceſſarily determined, by a principle in 
our nature, to attribute ſuch effects to ſome 
intelligent and defigning: cauſe. Suppoſing 
this cauſe to be the world itſelf, wel have; at 
leaſt, got free of the ſuppoſition of chance 
and blind ſatality. And, if the world be a 
being, endued with unbounded power, in- 
telligence and benevolence, the. world is the 
being we are in queſt of; for we have no 
other idea of the Deity, but of an eternal 
and ſelf-exiſtent being, endued with power, 
wildom and goodneſs. But the hypotheſis, 
thus reformed, Aill contradicts bur] percepti- 
ons. The world is made up 'of parts, ſepar- 
able; and actually ſer 4254 The attributes 
of unbounded power, intelligence and bene 
volence, do certainly not belong to this 
earth) and as little to the ſun, moon or ſtars, 
which are not 'conccived to be even volun- 
tary agents, "'Thtrefore, theſe attributes 
muſt belong to a Being, who mide the earth, 
Jun, 


- OF THE DEITY, 343 
ſun, moon and ſtars, and ae the 
whole e in one Seen. 6 Pills 26 
1311 Sos n ni 20 

A 58G ep W Phu may 1 that the 
above reaſoning, by which we conclude the 
eternity and\ſelf-exiſtence of one Being who 
made this. world, does not. neceſſarily infer 
ſuch a. concluſion, but only, an eternal ſuc 
ceſſion of ſuch, beings; which may be rect 
koned a more natural ſuppoſition, and morę 
agreeable, te, our feelings, than the idea, of 
one eternal. ſclf-exiſtent 11 without any 
cauſe of di ieee: . 

= matters 'fo 3 it i  difficul to 
Fea ideas with any degree of accuracy. I 
have obſerved; above, that it is too much for 
man, to gralp, | in his idea, an eternal Being, 
whole exiſtence, upon that account, cannot 
admit of the ſuppoſition of a cauſe. To talk, 
as ſome, of our metaphyſical writers do, of 
an abſolute neceſſity in the nature of the Be- 
ing, as the cauſe of his exiſtence, is mere 
jargon., For we. can conceive nothing moge 
clearly, 


Az 


444 OUR KNOWLEDGE 
dearly, than chat che cauſe muſt go before 
the effect, and that the cauſe eannot poſſibly 
be in the effect. But, however difficult it 
may be, to conecie one eternal Being, with- 
out a cauſe of its exiſtence; it is not leſs dif- 
heult, to coneelve an eternal ſucceſſion of 
: gr, deriving their exiſtenee from each 
other?" Por, tho every link be ſuppoſed a 
production, the chain irfelf exiſts without a 
caſe, as well as one eternal Being does. 
Therefore, an eternal ſucceſſion of beirigs, 
is not à more batutal ſuppoſition, than one 
eternal ſelf- exiſtent Being. And taking it 
in a different light, it will appear a ſuppoſi- 
ton much leſs natural, of rather altogether 
unnatural. Succeſſion in exiſtence, imply- 
ing the ſucceſſive annihilation of particulars, 
i indeed a very natural conception. But 
then, it is intimately connected with frall 
and dependent beings, and cannot, without 
the utmoſt violence to the conception, be 
applied to the Maker of all things, to whom, 
we naturally aſcribe, perpetuab exiſtence, and 


Nr other f . And therefore, 4s 
this 


OF THE DEITY. #4245 
this hypotheſis of a perpetual / ſucceſſion, 
when applied to the Deity; is deſtitute of a- 
ny ſupport from reaſon or experience, and is 
contradicted by every one of our natural feel- 
ings there can'be no . for adopting it. 


| Tux * obſerviglod of oaths that 
primos in orbe deos fecit timor, may be ob- 
jeRed; as it will be thought unphiloſophical, 
to multiply caufes for our belief of a Deity, 
when fear alonẽ muſt have that effect. For 
my part, I have little doubt of the truth of 
the obſetvation, taking it in its proper ſenſe, 

that fear is the foundation of our belief of 
inviſible malevolent. powers. For it is evi- 
dent, that fear can never be the cauſe of 
our belief of a benevolent Deity. 1 have 
un folded, in another eflay “, the cauſe of 
out dread of malevolent A powers. 
And I am perſuaded, that nothing has been 
more hurtful to religion, than the irregular 
propenſity in our nature, to dread ſuch pow- 


ers. Superficial thinkers are © apt to confound 
Wo ? | _ theſe 


of our dread of fmt powers in the dark, 


346 OUR KNOWLEDGE 
theſe phantoms of the imagination, with the 


objects of our true and genuine perceptions. 
And finding ſo little reality in the former, 


they are apt to conclude the latter, alſo, to 
be a ſiction. But, if they gave any ſort of 
deliberate attention, they would ſoon learn, 
by the aſſiſtance of hiſtory, if not by origi- 
nal feeling, to diſtinguiſh theſe objects, as 
having no real connection with each other. 
Man, in his original ſavage ſtate, is a ſhy | 
and timorous animal, dreading every new 
object, and attributing every extraordinary e- 
vent, to fome inviſible malevolent power. 
Led, at the ſame time, by mere appetite, he 
has little idea of regularity and order, of the 
morality of a&ions, or of the beauty of na- 
ture. In this ſtate, it is no wonder, he-mul- 
tiplies his inviſible malevolent powers, with+ 
out entertaining any notion of a ſupreme Be- 
ing, the Creator of all things. As man rip- 
ens in ſociety, and is benefited by the good- 
will of others, his dread of new objets gra- 
dually leffens. He begins to perceive regu- 
larity and order in the coutſe of nature. He 
| becomes 


OF THE DEIT Y. 34 
becomes ſharp · ſighted, in diſcovering cauſes 
from effects, and effects from cauſes. He 
aſcends gradually, thro the different orders 
of beings, and their operations, till he diſ- 
covers the Deity, who. is the cauſe. of all 
things. And when we run over the hiſtory 
of man, it will be found to hold true in fact, 
that ſavages, who are moſt poſſeſt with the 
opinion of evil ſpigits, have, of all people, the 
leaſt idea of a Deity; and, that as all civilized 
nations, without exception, entertain the firm 
belief of a Deity, ſo the dread of evil ſpirits 
wears out in every nation, in proportion to 
their gradual advances in ſocial intercourſe, 


. . AND this leads to a reflection, which cari- 
not fail to have univerſal influence. Man, * 
in a ſavage and brutiſh ſtate, is hurried a- 
way by every guſt of paſſion, and by every 
Phantom of the imagination, His powers 
and faculties are improved by education, and 
good culture. He acquires deep knowledge 
in the nature of things, and learns accurate. 


ly to 3 truth from falſehood. What 
more 


348 OUR RKNOWLE DGE 
more ſatisfying evidence can we require, of 
the truth of our perceptions of the Deity, 
than to find theſe perceptions prevalent, in 
Proportion, as mankind improve in the arts 
of life? "Theſe perceptions go hand in hand 
with the rational powers. As man increaſ- 
es in knowledge, and in tho diſcerning fa- 
eulties, his perceptions of the Deity become 
proportionally more ſtrong, clear and autho- 
ritative. Ihe univetſal conviction of a Dei- 
ty, which has, without exception, ſpread 
through all civilized nations, cannot poſſi- 
bly be without a foundation in natute. To 
inſiſt that it may, is to inſiſt, that an ef- 
fect may be without an adequate cauſe. Rea- 
on cannot be an adequate cauſe; becauſe, 
our reaſonings upon this ſubject, muſt, at 
beſt, be abſtruſe, and beyond the comprehen- 
ſion of the bulk of mankind. Our know- 
ledge, therefore, of the Deity, muſt be found- 
ed on our perceptions and feelings, which 
are common to mankind. Aud it is agree- 
able to the analagy of nature, that God 
ſhould diſcoyer himſelf to his rational crea- 
ana tures 


OFTHEDEIT V. 349 
tures after this manner. If this ſubject be 
involved in any degree of obſcurity, writers 
are to blame, who, in a matter of ſo great 

importance, ought to give no quarter co ge- 
curacy of thought or expreſſion. But it is 
an error, common to the bulk of writers, to 
ſubſtitute reaſon for feeling. The faculty 
of perception, working ſilently, and without 
effort, i is generally overlookt. And we muſt 
find a reaſon for every thing we judge to be 
true; tho' the truth of the propoſition often 
depends, not upon reaſoning, but upon, mere 
feeling. Ir is thus, that morality has' been 
brought under ſome obſcurity, by metaphy- 
ſical writers; and it is equally to be regret- 
ed, that the knowledge of the Deity has 
been brought under obſcurity, by the ſame 
ſort of writers. 


o'4 4 z 


Hav: NG (ated the belief of a Deity up- 
on its proper baſis, 'we ſhall proceed to take 
a general view of the attributes, which be⸗ 
long to that great Being; and firſt, 


0 
— . 
Lu 
. © 
: } 
oy 


. r ts 9 oe — 


25 0 un KN OWLEDSGE: 


of the 1 of the DEIT r. 


Wie regard to this, and all the o- 
ther attributes of the Deity, it ought 
to be no di iſcquraging reflection, that we 


| cannot attain an adequate idea of them. The 


Deity i is too grand - an object, to be compre- 


hended, 1 in any perfect manner, by the hu- 
man r mind, We have not words nor ideas, 

which, any way correſpond to the manner 
of his exiſtence. Should ſome good angel un- 
dertake t to be our inſtructor, we would ſtill 
be at a loſs, to form a diſtin& conception of 


it. Power, intelligence and goodneſs, ate 


axtibures which we can comprehend. But 
with re gard to the nature of the Deity 


in 3 and the manner of his exiſt- 
ence, we muſt be ſatisfied, in this mortal 
ſtate, to remain, much! in the dark. The at- 
tribute of Unity, i is what, of all, we can have 
the leaſt certainty about, by the li ght of na- 
ture. It is not inconſiſtent, that — mould 


be two or more beings of the very higheſt or- 


ger, whole eſſence and actions are ſo regulated 
1 8 by 


OF THE DEITY. 351 
by the nature of the beings themſelves, as 
to be altogether concordant and harmoni- 
ous. In truth, the nature of the Divine Be- 
ing is ſo far out of our reach, that we muſt 
be " bſolutely at a loſs, to apply to it unity or 
multiplicity. This property applies to num- 
bers, and to individual things, but we know 
not that it will apply to the Deity. At the 
fame time, if we may venture to judge, of a 
matter ſo remote from common apprehen- 
ſion, we ought to conclude i in favours of the 
attribute of unity. We perceive the neceſſity 
of admitting one eternal Being; and it is ſuf. 
ficient, that there is not the ſmalleſt founda- 
tion from ſenſe or reaſon, to ſuppoſe more 
than one. 


Of 


352" OURKNOWLEDGE 


0% the 1 * INTELLIGENCE 
N . 


1 
1 


„ 


reer 


to both. The wiſdom and power, which 
muſt neceſſarily be ſuppoſed, in the creation 
and government of this world, are ſo far be- 
yond the reach of our comprehenſion, that 
they may juſtly be ſtiled infinite. We can 

aſcribe no bounds to either: and we have 
no other notion of inſnite, but that, to which 
we can aſcribe no bounds. 


„ " 


Of 


OF TRE DEITY: 35 


Of the BENEvoLENCE of the Derry, 
4 HE mixed nature of the events, which 
1 fall under our obſervation, ſeems, at 
firſt light, to point out a mixed cauſe, partly 
good and partly evil. The author of « phi- 
« Joſophical eflays concerning human un- 
. « derſtanding,” in his eleventh eſſay, “of 
ce the practical conſequences of natural reli- 
« pion,” puts in the mouth of an Epicurean 
philoſopher, a very ſhrewd argument againſt 
the benevolence of the Deity. The ſum of 
it is what follows. © If the cauſe be known 
only by the effect, we never ought to aſ- 
« ſign to it any qualities, beyond what are 
i pteciſely requiſite to produce the effect. 
Allowing therefore God to be the Author 
« of the exiſtence and order of the univerſe; 
« it follows, that he poſſeſſes that preciſe 
« degree of power, intelligence and benevo- 
« lence, which appears in his workmanſhip.” 
And hence, from the preſent ſcene of things, 
apparently fo full of ill and diſorder, it is 
| | 12 con- 


354 OUR KNOWLEDGE 
concluded, * That we have no foundation 
« for aſcribing any attribute to the Deity, 

but what is preciſely commenſurate 

« the imperfection of this world.” With 

regard to mankind, an exception is made. © In 

«works of human art and contrivance, it is 

« admitted, that we can advance from the 

tc effect to the cauſe, and returning back from 

e the cauſe, that we conclude new effects, 

«"which have not yet exiſted. Thus, for in- 

«ſtance, from the ſight of a half-finiſhed 

« building, ſurrounded with heaps of ſtones 

« and mortar, and all the inſtruments of 

« maſonry, we naturally conclude, that the 

« building will be finiſhed, and receive all 

the farther improvements, which art can be- 
4 ſtow upon it. But the foundation of this 
« reaſoning is, plainly, that man is a being 

% whom we know by experience, and whoſe 

« 'motives and defigns we are acquainted 

6 with, which enables us to draw many in- 

4 ferences, concerning what may be expect- 

ce ed from him. But did we know man on- 

by b. from the ſingle work or production, 

« which 


- OF THE DEITY. 335 


7 which we examine, we could not argue in 
« this manner; becauſe our knowledge of 
* all the qualities which we aſcribe to him, 
« being, upon that ſuppoſition, derived from 
the work or production, it is impoſſible 
they could point any thing farther, or be 
« the foundation of any new inference.” 


| SUPPOSING reaſon to be our arab} guide 
in theſe matters, which is ſuppoſed by this 
philoſopher in his argument, I cannot help 
ſeeing his reaſoning to be juſt. It appears 


to be true, that by no inference of reaſon, 


can I conclude any power or benevolence in 
the cauſe, beyond what is diſplayed in the 
effect. But this is no wonderful diſcovery. 
The philoſopher might have carried his argu- 
ment a greater length. He might have ob- 
ſerved, even with regard to a man I am per- 
fectly acquainted with, that I cannot con- 
clude, by any chain of reaſoning, he will fi- 
niſh the houſe he has begun. Tis to no 
purpoſe to urge his temper and diſpoſition. 
For, from what principle of reaſpn can I in- 
| ter, 


356 OUR KNOWLEDGE 
fer, that theſe will continue the ſame as ſor- 
merly ? He might further have. obſcrved, 
that the difficulty is ne, with regard to 
have begun the building. For what — 
tion have I, to transfer the qualities of the 
perſons I am acquainted with, to ſtrangers? 
This ſurely is not performed by any proceſs 
of reaſoning. There is ſtill à wider ſtep, 
which is, that reaſon will net help me out 
in attributing to the Deity, even that preciſe 
degree of power, intelligence and benevo- 
lence, which appears in his workmanſhip. I 
find no inconſiſtency. in ſuppoſing, that a 
blind and undeſigning cauſe may be produc. 
tive of excellent effects. It will, I preſume, 
be, difficult to produce a demonſtration to 
the contrary. And ſuppoſing, at the inſtant 
of operation, the Deity to have been endu- 
ed with theſe: properties, can we make out, 
by any argument à priori, that they are ſil] 
fubliſting in him? Nay, this lame philoſo- 
pher might have gone a great way further, | 
by obſerving, when any ing comes into ex 

iſtence, 


—— 


OF THE DIETY, 3357 
iſtence, that, by no proceſs of reaſoning, can 
we ſo much as infer any cauſe of its exiſt» 
ENCE. | 7 j 


Bur happily for man, where reaſon fails 
him, perception and feeling come ta his aſ- 
ſiſtance. By means of principles implanted 
in our nature, we are- enabled to make the 
above concluſions and inferences,” as, at full 
length is made out, in ſome of the forego» 
ing eſſays. More particularly, power, diſ- 
covered in any object, is perceived as a per- 
manent quality, like figure or extenſion *. 
Upon this account, power diſcovered by a 
fingle effect, is conſidered, as ſufficient, to 
produce the like effects without end. Fur- 
ther, great power may be diſcovered from a 
ſmall effect; hich holds even in bodily 
ſtrength ; as where an action is performed 
readily, and without effort. This is equal. 
ly remarkable in wiſdom and intelligence. 
A very ſhort argument may unfold correct- 
neſs of judgment and a deep reach. Tho 
| weh 


# Eſſay upon our knowledge of future events. 


358 OUR KNOWLEDGE. 
fame holds in art and skill. Wasn 2 
flight piece of workmanſhip done with taſte; 
we readily obſery 'e, that the artiſt was equal 
to a greater tasx. But it is moſt of all re- 
markable i in the quality of benevolence. F or 
even, from a ſingle effect produced by an un- 
known cauſe, which appears to be accurate- 
ly adapted to ſome good purpoſe, we neceſ- 
farily attribute to this cauſe, benevolence, 
as well as power and wiſdom *. It is in- 
deed but a weak perception, which ariſes 
from a ſingle effect: but ſtill, ir is a clear 
and diſtin perception of pure benevolence, 
without any mixture of malice; for ſuch con- 
tradictory qualities, are not readily to be aſ- 
cribed to the ſame cauſe. There may be a 
difficulty indeed, where the effect is of a 
mixt nature, partly evil, partly good; or 
where a variety of effects, having theſe op- 
poſite characters, proceed from the ſame 
* 4 Such intricate caſes cannot fail to 
embaraſs us. But, as we muſt form ſome 


ſeniment. the reſolution of the difficulty 
plainly 


Eſſay of our idea of power, at the cloſe, 


OF THE DEITY. 339 
plainly is, that we muſt aſeribe benevo- 
lence or malevolence to the cauſe, from the 
prevalence of the one or other quality in 
the effects. If evil makes the greateſt fi- 
gure, we perceive the cauſe to be malevolent, 
notwithſtanding of oppolite inſtances 'of 
goodneſs. . If, upon the whole, goodneſs 
is ſupereminent, we perceive the cauſe to be 
benevolent ; and are not moved by the croſs 
inſtances of evil, which we endeavour to 
reconcile, as we can, to pure benevolence. 
It is, indeced, true, that where the oppoſite 
effects nearly balance each other, our per- 
ception cannot be entire upon the ſide of be- 
nevolence or malevolence. But, if good ot 
evil greatly preponderate, the weight in the 
oppoſite ſcale goes for nothing: the per- 
ception is entire upon one fide or other. 
Becauſe it is the tendency of our percepti- 
ons, to. reje& a mixt character made up of 
benevolence and malevolence, unleſs, where 
it is neceſſarily preſt home upon us, by an 


equality of oppoſite effects. 


SUCH 


1 


3% OUR KNOWLEDGE 


Soc n' are the concluſions, that we can 


with cettainty draw, not indeed from reaſon, 
but from ſenſe and feeling. So little are we 
acquainted with the eſſence and nature of 
things, that we cannot eſtabliſh theſe con- 
cluſions upon any argument @ priori. Nor 
would it be of great benefit to mankind, to 
have theſe concluſions demonſtrated to them; 


few having either leiſure or genius to deal 


in ſuch profound ſpeculations. It is more 


| wiſely ordered, that they appear to us intui- 


tively certain. We feel that they are true, 
and our feelings have full authority over us. 
This is a ſolid foundation for our conviction 
of the benevolence of the Deity. If, from 
a ſingle effect, pure benevolence in the cauſe 
can be perceived or felt; what doubt can 


there be, of the pure benevolence of the 
Deity, when we ſurvey his works, preg- 


nant with good-will to mankind ? Innu- 


merable inſtances, of things wiſely adapt- 
ed to good purpoſes, give us the ſtrongeſt 
| feeling, of the goodnefs, as well as wiſdom, of _ 
the Deity ; which is joined with the firmeſt 


per- 


OF THE DEIT V. 
perſuaſion of conſtancy and e in 
his operations. A few croſs inſtances, which 
to us, weak-ſighted mortals, may appear of 
evil tendency, ought not, and eannot make 
us waver. When we know ſo little of na- 
ture, it would be ſurpriſing, indeed, if we 
ſhould be able to account for every event, 
and its final tendency. Unleſs we were let 
into the counſels of the Almighty, we can 
never hope to unravel all the ITE of 
the creation. 


A8 we cannot ſay too much upon a ſub- 
jed, which is of all the moſt .intereſting, I 
ſhall add ſome other conſiderations, to juſ- 
ufy our belief of the pure benevolence of 
the Deity. And, in the firſt place, I ven- 
ture to lay it down for a truth, that pure 
malice, is a principle not to be found in hu- 
man nature. Ihe benevolence of man, is, in- 
deed, often checked and counteracted by jea- 
louſy, envy, and other ſelfiſh paſſions, But, 
theſe are diſtin from pure malice; for, pure. 
8 is not oppoſite to ſelf-intereſt, but 

0 | 2 2 to 


362 OUR KNOWLEDGE 


to ſatisfaction in the misfortunes. and mi- 
ſeries, of others. Now, the independent 
and all-ſufficient. nature of the Deity, ſets 
bim above all ſuſpicion, of being liable to 
enyy, or the purſuit of any intereſt, other 
chan tlie general intereſt of his creatures. 
Wants, weakneſs, and oppoſition of i inte- 
reſts, are the cauſes of ill - will and malice a 
mong men. From all ſuch influences, the 
Deity muſt be. exempted... And therefore, 
_ unleſs we ſuppoſe him leſs perfect than the 
creatures he has made, we cannot readily 
ſuppoſe, that there is * u of er 
in MW; nature. | 4 


Y Tn. HERE: ee confideration, which 
has always afforded me great. ſatisfaction. 
Did natural evil prevail in reality, as much 
as it docs, in appearance, we muſt expect, 
that the enlargement of natural knowledge, 
ſhould daily diſcover new inſtances of bad; 
as Well as of good intention. But the fact 
1s. directly otherways. Our diſcoveries aſcer- 
4ait ere and more 105 the benevolence 


5 A of 


p Ek DEI T v. 363 


of the Deity, by unfolding beautiful final 
cauſes without number; while the appear- 
ances of evil intention gradually vaniſh, like 
4 miſt, after the ſun breaks out. Many 
things are now found to be curious in theit 
eontrivance, and productive of good effects, 
-which formerly appeared uſeleſs, or, perhaps, 
of evil tendency. And, in the gradual pro- 
preſs of learning, we have the ſtrongeſt rea- 
ſon to expect, that many more diſcoveries, 
of the like kind, will be made hereafter. This 
very conſideration, had we nothing elſe tb 
rely on, ought to make us reſt upon the aſ- 
ſurance which our feelings give us of the be- 
nevolence of the Deity; without giving way 
to the perplexity of a few croſs appegrances, 
which, in matters ſo far beyond our com- 
prehenſion, ought to be aſcribed to our own 
ignorance, and, by no means, to any ne 
nan the Dewey. 21 1 r ein, 
a eee el 

1 $HALL ſatisfy myſelf with ſuggeſting 
Kai one other obſervation, that, inferring a 
mixed nature in the Deity, from ecverits 
10 | which 


* 


364 OUR KNOWLEDGE 
which cannot be clearly -reconciled to be- 
nevolence, is at beſt, new moulding the 
with greater facility, form a conception of 
two oppoſite powers, governing the univetſe, 
than of one power, endued with great good: 
neſs, and great malevolence; which are brin- 
b eee n 


3; <% AUT 


195 a . e ae of 
this attribute of pure benevolence, has a wide 
and ſolid foundation. It is impreſſed upon 
us by a natural feeling, byceyery diſcoyery 
we wake in the ſcience of nature, and by e- 
very argument which is ſuggeſted. by reaſon 

and reflection. There is but one pbjeRtion 
of apy weight, which gan be moved againſt 
it, ariſing from the difficylty of accounting 
for natural and moral evil. It. is pbſeryed a- 
bove, that this objection, however it may 
Puzale, ought not to ſhake our faith in his 
attribute; becauſe, an argument from igno- 
TRACE, can never be a comineing argument 
geld in 


"OF THE DEITY. 365 
in any caſe; and this therefore, in its ſtrong-· 

eſt light, appears but in the ſhapę of a dif- | 
ficulty, not of a ſolid objection. At the 
fame time, as the utmoſt labour of thought 
is well beſtowed upon a ſubject, in Which 
mankind is ſo much intereſted, I ſhall pro- 
ceed to ſuggeſt ſome reflections, which may 
tend to ſatisfy us, that the inſtances com- 
monly given of natural and moral evil, are 
not ſo inconſiſtent with pure benevolence, 
n at 1 light, by be om ors! RY 


- On E erben ban muſt by eyes, 
which; I preſume, will be admitted withaut 
much heſitation. It certainly will not be 
thought, in any degree, inconſiſtent with the 
pure benevolence of the Deity, that the 
world is filled with an endleſs variety of 
creatures, gradually aſcending in the ſcale of 
being, from the moſt groveling, to the moſt 
glorious.” To think otherways, would be in 
effect to think, that all inanlmate beings ought 
to be endued with life and motlon, and that 
all animate. beings ought to be angels. H. 

al It 


366 ou W 


-at firſt view, it ſhall be thought, chat infinite 
yo er and goodneſs cannot ſtop ſhort of ab- 
te perfection in their operations, and that 
the work of creation muſt be confined to 
the higheſt order of beings in the higheſt 
perfection; this thought will ſoon be cor- 
rected, by conſidering, that, by this ſuppoſi- 
tion, 2 great void is left, which, according 
to the preſent ſyſtem of things, is filled with 
beings; and with life and motion. And, ſup- 
poling the world to be repleniſhed with the 
higheſt order of beings, created in the high- 
eſt degree of perfection, it is certainly an act 
of more extenſive beneyolence, to complete 
the work of creation, by the addition of an 
inbnity of creatures leſs perſect, than to leave 
1 great 'blank, berwixt —— of the 9 


6 2 27 and 1 


8 Nie * x0 
2 


"us umperflion thin of i a created be- 
ing, abſtraftly conſidered, is no impeich- 
ment of any of the attributes of the Deity, 
whether power, wiſ⸗ dom, or benevolence. 
Aud if fo, neither can * abſtractly conf 
8 | 290% S164) Os eelecat a. WG 


% 


. OF THE DEITY. 367 

* be an impeachment, ſo far as it is the 
natural and neceſſary conſequence of imper- 
fection. The government of the world is 
carried on by general laws, which produce 
eonſtancy and uniformity in the operations 
of nature. Among many reaſons for this, 
we can clearly diſcover one, which i is unfold-: 
ed in a former eſſay *, that, were not na- 
ture uniform and hes, men, and other 
ſenſible beings, would be altogether at a loſs- 
how to conduct themſelves, Our nature is 
adjuſted to theſe general laws, and miſt, 
therefore, be ſubjected to all their varieties, 
whether beneficial or hurtful, We are made 
| ſenſible beings, and therefore equally. ca- 
pable of pleaſure and pain. And it muſt 
follow, from the very nature of the thing, that 
delicacy of feeling, which is the ſource of 
much pleaſure, may be equally the ſource of 
much pain. It js true, we cannot pronounce 
it to be a contradiction, that a being ſhould 
be B 9h of pleaſure only, and not of 
But no argument can be founded up- 

on * ſuppoſition, but what will conclude, 
that 


7 — — 


% ON KNOWLE DOE 
thae a creature, ſuch as man, ought to have 


no plate im the ſeale of beings; which ſures 
I will not be maintained; For it is ſtill bet- 


ter; that man be as he is, chan not be at all. 


E is further to be obſerved in general, that 
averfion'to pain; is not ſo great, ar leaſt in 
© mankind; as to counterbalance every other 
appetite. Moſt men would purchaſe an ad- 
ditional ſhare of happineſs, at the expence 
of ſome pain. And therefore, it can afford 
no argument againſt the benevolence of the 
Deity, that created beings art found liable to 
pain, from theit nature and condition, ſup- 
poſing, in the main, their life to be comforts 
able. Their ſtate is ſtill preferable to that 
G inanimate matter, bre Nat 15055 
fare N * LEONG 


Tavs dell i pas- e even req a ge. 
dil view of our ſubject, that natural evil 
affords no argument againſt the benevolence 
of the Deity,” And this will ſtill appear in a 
fironger light, when we go to particulars. 
111 is fully laid "—_ in the firſt eſſay, that the 

bocial 


OF THE DEIT T. 369 
ſocial affections, even when molt, painful, 
are accompanied with no degree of averſion, 
whether i in the feeling itſelf, or in the after 
reflection. We value ourſelves the more, for 
being ſo affected; being conſcious that it is 
right and meet to be ſo affected. Diſtreſles, 
therefore, of this ſort, cannot be called evils, 
when we have no averſion to them, and do 
not repine at them. And if theſe be laid a- 
ſide, what may be juſtly termed natural evils, 
will be reduced within a ſmall compaſs. 
They will be found to proceed neceſſarily, 
and by an eſtabliſhed train of cauſes and ef- 
fects, either from the imperfection of our 
nature, or from the operation of general 
las. Pain is not diſtributed through the 
world, blindly, ot with any appearance of 
malice; ; but ends, proportions and mea- 
ſures, are obſerved in the diſtribution. Sen- 
ible marks of good tendency, are conſpicu- 
ous, even in the harſneſt diſpenſations « of Pro- 
vidence, as well as in its general laws: and 
the good tendency of theſe general laws, i is a 
ſure pledge of benevolence, even in thoſe i in- 
Aaa ſtances, 


. * . 


% OUR KNOWLEDGE 
ſlancco, where we may be at a loſs about their 
application. One thing is certain, that there is 
zn man, a natural prineiple to fubmit to theſe 
| geticral lows and their conſequences. And, 
were this principle cultivated, as it ought to 
be; mankind would have the fame cotifctouf- 
neſs of 'reRtitude of eonduct, in ſubmitting 
to the laws of the natural world, that they 
have in ſubmitting to the laws of the moral 
world, and would as little repine at the diſ- 
a treſſes of che one Kind, as at "yr of ms _ 
alter. b er 15 


? 


Bor e une as this . 
ment, unleſs we proceed further, to ſhow, 
chat paitiand diſtels are produRive of ma- 


fold good ends, and that the preſent fyſtei 
could not well be without them. In the firſt 


place, pain i8 nteeſſary, as à monitor of w har 
is hurtful and dangerous to life. Every mary | 
ps WR of his own preſervati · 

; and he would be ill qualified for this 
_ were he left entirely to the guidance of 
| cuban. He would for want of food, 


Were 


. OF THE DEITY.. 371 


were it not for the Fain of hunger. And but 
for the Pain ariſing from fear, he — 
precipitate himſelf, every moment, into th 0 
moſt deſtructive — * "wa In the next 
place, pain is the great ſanction of laws, 
bach hyman and diyine, There would be 
no order nor diſcipline in the world, without 
it. In the third place, the diſtreſles any 
diſappointments, which ariſe from the un- 
certainty of ſeaſons, from the variable tem- 
pers of thoſe we are connected with, and from 
other croſs accidents, are wonderfully well 
adapted to our conſtitution, by keeping our 
hopes and fears in perpetual agitation, Man 
is an active being, and is not in his ele- 


ment, but when in variety of occupation. A 


conſtant, and uniform tenor of life, without 
hopes qr fears, however agrecable in itſelf, 
would ſoon. bring on ſatiety and diſguſt, 
Pain. therefore is neceſſary, not only to en- 
hance our pleaſures, but to kerp us in perpe; 
wal motion. And it is needleſs to obſerve, a 


ſecond time, that, to complain of man's con- 


to 


ſtitution in this reſpect, is, in other words, 


3 o v RKNOWLEDG E 


to complain, that there is ſuch a creature 28 
man in the ſcale of being. And to mention 
but one other thing, pain and diſtreſs have a 
wonderful tendency to advance the Intereſts 
of ſociety. Grief, compaſſion and \/mpathy, 
| arc ſtrong connecting principles, by which 
every particular man is made ſubfervient to 
— geveral good bf een — 5 I 

1 rk eib dll brich of my ſubject 
Hith a general reflection, which is teſerved 
to the laſt plate, beeanſe; in my apprelienſi- 
on, it brings the argument for the benevo- 
lence of the Deity, withm a very narrow 
compaſs. When we run over what we know 
of the formation and government of this 
world, the inſtances are without number, of 
good intention, and of conſummate wifdom, 
In adjuſting things to good ends and purpo— 
ſes. And-it is equally true,; that, as we ads 
vance in knowledge, ſcenes of this kind-mul- 
riply upon us. This obſetvation is enforeed 
above. But I have now to obſerve, that 


there is not a fingle inftanoe:to bo met with, 
>» which 


' OF THE DEITY. 373 
which can be juſtly aſcribed to malevolence 
or bad intention. Many evils may be point- 
ed out; evils at leaſt as to us. But when 
the moſt is made of ſuch inſtances, they ap- 
pear only to be the conſequences of general 
laws, which regard the whole more than par- 
ticulars; and therefore are no marks of ma- 
levolence in the author and governor of the 
world. Were there any doubt about the 
tendency of ſuch inſtances, it would be more 
rational to aſeribe them to want of power, 
than want of benevolence, which is ſo con- 
ſpicuous in other inſtances. But we can- 
not rationally aſcribe them to either, but to 
the pre-eſtabliſhed order and conſtitution of 
things, and to the neceflary” imperfection of 
the nature of all created beings, And, after 
all, laying the greateſt weight upon theſe na- 
_ turalevils, that can reaſonably be demand. 

ed, the accompt ſtands thus. Inſtances with+ 
out number of benevolence, in the frame and 
government of this world, ſo direct and clear, 
as not to admit of the ſmalleſt dubiety. - On 
n= other ſide, natural evils are ſtated, which, 


374 OUR KNOWLEDGE 

At beſt, are very. doubtful inſtances of male- 
volence, and may be aſcribed, perhaps ob- 
ſeurely, to another cauſe. In balancing this 
acrompt, where the evil appearances are ſo 
far out- numbered by the good, why ſhould 
we helitate. a moment to aſcribe pure benc- 
valence to the Deity, and to conclude theſe 
evils to be neceſſary defects in a good conſti- 
futian ; eſpecially when it is ſo, repugnant to 
gur natural feelings, to aſeribe great benevo- 
my and dera ee * the ſame 11 


1 will be obſerved, that in bene che 
ahore objection to the benevolence of the 
HBeity, 1 have avoided urging. any argument 
from our future exiſtence; tho' it affords 2 
fruitful field. of comfort, greatly overbalane | 
cing the tranſitory evils of this life. But I 
ſhould ſcarce think it fair reaſoning, to urge 
ſuch topics upon this ſubject; which would 
be arguing in a cirele, | Becauſe the beneyo · 
lence: of the Deity i is the only ſolid principle, 


$18 Hom vhence We can! infer a future exiſtence, 
Havi NG 


OF THE DEITY, 275 


Har NG Gſpatehed what occurred upon 
natural evil, we come now, to conſider mos 
ral evil as an objection againſt the benevo- 
ſence of the Deity. And, ſome writers urge 
this objection ſo far, as to conclude, that 
God is the cauſe of moral evil, ſince he has 
given man a conſtitution, by which, moral 
evil, does, and muſt abound. It is certainly 
no ſatisfying anſwer to this objection, that 
moral evil is the neceſſary conſequence of 
human liberty, when human liberty muſt, 
at beſt, appeat a doubtful fact. And even 
admitting of human, liberty, ĩt is. a very ppſ- 
ſible ſuppoſition, 1 that man, might have been. 
endued with a moral ſenſe, ſo lively and 
ſtrong, as to be abſolutely authoritative oyer 
his actions. Waving, therefore, the argu- 
ment from human liberty, we muſt look a- 
bout for a more ſolid anſwer to the objection; 
which will not be difficult, when we conſi- 
der this matter, as laid down in a former ef. 
fay *. It is there made out, 'tis hoped . to. 
the ſatisfaction of che reader, that human ac- 
tions 


"0 Eſſay upon liberty and neceſſity, 


$6 O R KNOWLEDGE 
tions, are, all of them, directed by general 
haws, which have an operation, not leſs in- 
fallible, than thaſe laws have, which govern 
mere matter; that the feeling we have of li- 
berty, does not correſpond to the truth of 
things; and, that our peculiar manner of con- 
ceiving human actions, as right or wrong, 
and as praiſe or blame worthy, is wholly 
founded on this deceitful feeling. The final 
cauſe of this ſingular feeling, is alſo there laid 
open; that it is happily adjuſted to the na- 
ture of man, as an imperfect being, and tends 
to promote virtue in an eminent degree. This 
diſcovery affords a ſolid anſwer to an objec- 
tion, which, ſo far as I know, has not hi- 
therto received any good anſwer. Andi it is, 
that the objection reſts entirely upon a falſe 
ſuppoſition, as if human actions were ſeen 
In the fame light by the Deity, in which 
they are ſeen by men. A feeling, which is 
not agreeable to the truth of things, tho” 
wiſely ordered to correct an imperfect conſti- 
tution in man, cannot be aſcribed to a per- 
fect eins The Deity perceiving all things 


28 


OF THE DEITY. 3775 
as they ate, without diſguiſe, knows, that 
what is termed moral evil in the language f 
man, is, as well as moral good, the feſult of 
general laws, and of a neceſſary connection 
betwixt cauſes and their effects. Every thing 
poſſeſſes its proper place in his plan. All 
our actions contribute equally to carry on the 
great and good deſigns of Providence; and, 
therefore, there is nothing which in his 
ſight is evil; at leaſt, W . erer 
* the r 


CoNnSIDERING' the objection in the a- 
bove light, which is the true one, it loſes its 
force. For it certainly will not be-maintain- 
ed as an argument againſt the goodneſs of the 
Deity, that he endued mankind with a ſenſe 
of moral evil; which, in reality, is one of 
the greateſt bleſſings beſtowed 'upon him, 
and which eminently $28 _ ner 
the brute creation. | 


Zur K now, che objection is turned} into 
another ſhape, and it be demanded, Why was 
not every man endued with ſo ſtrong a ſenſe 

P. Bbb | of 


5 OU KNOWLEDGE, &c. 


of morality, as to be completely authorita- 
tive over all his principles of action, which 
would prevent much remorſe to himſelf, and 
much miſchief to others? It is anſwered, 
firſt, that chis would not be ſufficient for in 
exact regularity of conduct, unleſs man's 
judgment of riglit and wrong were alſo: in- 
fallible. For, as long as we differ about 
what is haurs, and what is mine, injuſtice 


muſt be the conſequence, in many inſtances, 


however innocent we be. But, in the next 
place, to complain of a defect in the moral 
| ſenſe}: is to complain, that we are not per- 
fect creatures. And, if this complaint be 
ell founded, We may, with equal juſtice, 
cmplain, that our underſtanding is but mo- 
derate, and that, in general, our powers and 
faculties are limited. Why ſhould it be urg- 
ed as an objection, that the moral ſenſe is 
zmperfect, when all our ſenſes, internal and 
external are imperfect? In ſhort, if this com- 
plaint be, in any meaſure, juſt, it muſt go the 
dength; as above obſeryed, to prove, that it 
is not conſiſtent - with the benevolence of 
the De. to create ſuch a being as man. 
20 d CO N- 


i 27 7 7 A 1 \ g 5 


* 
cou so » 0 


rr 


„E. Fon — gone * — 

..of ſubjects, not without labour and 
8 of thought. And now, like a tra- 
veller, who, after examining the different 
parts of a country, aſcends ſome eminence to 
review. the whole; let us ' refreſh, ourſelves, 
by looking back, and cis ahn giſoorer 


en. | .coiBilÞ 3515 


— ſubject of theſe hon „Mas. We 
have formed no imaginary ſchemes for ex- 
alting, or for depreſſing his nature. The 
inquiry has been, whither his capacities and 
Powers ſuit his preſent circumſtances, and fit 
bim for acting a proper part in life. We 
begin with examiping, ſome of the great 
{pri ings of action. Upon accurate {crutiny, 

it is found, that A eee or deſire of good, 
is not our ſole principle of action; but, that 
we are furniſhed, beſides, with a variety of 


impelling power Ningled in ſoriety, for 
. Li th 0 


* 
4 


380 CONCLUSION. 
che convenience of mutual help, it is neceſ- 
fary, thar we frel for edeh other. But as 
che feeling for another's ſorrow, cannot but 
be painful; here is traced, an admirable con- 
trivance, to reconcile us to this virtuous paln; 
by taking off that averſion to pain, which, 
in all other caſes, is an over-ruling principle. 
This explains a ſeemingly ſtrange phænome - 
non, that we ſhould ſeek entertainment, from 
repreſentations which immerſe us in the deep- 
eſt affliction. From man as a ſocial, we pro- 
ceed to man as a moral agent. We find him 
ſenſible of beauty, in different ranks and or- 
ders; and eminently ſenſible of it, in its highs 
eſt order that of ſerititient; action and ela- 
. rafter; But the ſenſe of moral beauty, is 
not alone ſufficient; ' The importante of 
morality requires ſome ſtronger principle'to 
guard it; ſome' checks and reſtraints from 
vice, more ſevere than mere difapprobation, 
'Theke are not wanting. Jo the ſenſe of 
beauty, is ſuperadded a ſenſe of obligation 3 
z feeling of ght and wrong,” which conſti- 
totes 3 Jaw wichin us; | "TH thaw * 


| 780 | 


CONCLUSION. 385 
the primary virtues, thoſe which are eſſen- 
tial to ſociety, under the ſtricteſt ſanctions. 
Pain, the ſtrongeſt monitor, is here employ» 
ed, to check tranſgreſſion: whilft in the ſubs 
limer, more (heroic parts of virtue, where 
ſtrict obligation ends, pleaſure is employed 
to reward the performance. - To nothing are 
we prompted as a duty, for which we are not 
firſt prepared, by ſome inward - principle. 
An exact proportion is maintained betwixt 
the ſtrength of our internal principles, and 
their uſefulneſs. From ſelf, the object bf 
our moſt eſſential principles, affection ſpreads 
thro all the connections we have with others, 
whether formed by natural ties, founded on 
gratitude, or created by ſympathy with the 
diſtreſſed; till, among perſons indifferent and 


unknown, affection is gradually loſt, Ar- 


rived at that point, where beneyolence would 
vaniſh by the diſtance of the object, nature 
has an admirable artifice for reviving its force; 
by directing it on the abſtract idea of a Pub- 
lic and a Whole: which, tho' faint and ob- 
ſeure in the conception, is yet equal to any 
28 | of 


$2 CON LUSs TON. 

of bur ideas, in force and energy. Man 1s, in 
this manner, furniſhed for acting a proper 
And uſeful part, in the ſyſtem to which He 
belongs. But thĩs ſyſtem could not be re- 
gulated upon any pre- adjuſted plan: the ac- 
tions of man could not proceed with any 
order, nor be ſubject to any government; un- 
leſs all were neceſſarily determined by mo- 
tives. At the fame time, man could not well 
conceive himſelf to be a moral, without con- 
<eiving himſelf, alſo, to be a free, agent. Hence 
the neceſſity of giving his 'mind a peculiar 
caſt; in which, we cannot but diſcern the 
brighteſt characters of A e wiſdom. By 
Having his practical ideas, and his moral 
feelings, formed upon an imaginary ſtate 
of liberty, conſcience exerts its power over 
Kim, with full authority; and ſcope is gi- 
n, for à far richer and more diverſified 
ſcene of action, than the perpetual conſci- 
'oulneſs of neceſſity could have admitted. 
Having ſhown, that morils are eſtabliſhed on 
an immovable foundation, we proceed to 
how, by „ inward powers we are led: to 
* the 


CONCLUSION. 38 


the knowledge and belief of ſome of the moſh. 


neceſſary truths ; particularly that: which it 
moſt imports us to know, the exiſtence of 
the Deity. To this we pave the way, by a 
full preparation of reaſoning. We firſt con- 


ſder the nature of that act of the mind, which | 


is termed belief; of which the immediate 
foundation is the teſtimony of our ſenſes. If 


the teſtimony they give to the real exiſtence 
of a material world, be a mere illuſion, as 
ſome have held, all belief: founded on our 


own feelings, i is at an end. Hence there ap; 
pears a neceſſity f for eſtabliſhing the authori- 
ty. of our ſenſes. And here we find full ſa- 
tisfaQtion. For, in other caſes, where there 
1s. any thing like artifice | in the conduct of 
nature, means are afforded, both of diſcover- 
ing the truth, and of diſcovering the end, for 
which artifice i is made uſe of, to conceal the 


apt She never deceives us in vain. But, 


in the caſe of external exiſtences, we find 
—.— after the ſtricteſt ſcrutiny, but pre- 


ſumptions, hypotheſes and fallacious reaſon- 


ings, oppoſed to the cleareſt teſtimony, which 


* i | nature , 


1 CONCLUSION. 


bature can give. Diſperſing with no great 
labour, that philoſophic-duſt, which ſceptics 
have raiſed about material ſubſtance, we find 
it no more difficult to be conceived, than 
qualities; both being equally diſplayed to 
us, by a peculiar modification of the ſenſe 
ef ſight. But belief is not more ſolidly 
founded upon our external ſenſes, than upon 
our internal feelings. Not the greateſt ſceptic 
ever doubted of his own perſonal identity, 
continued thro the ſucceſlive periods of life; 
of his being the ſame man this year, he was 
the laſt: which, however, is a dif covery made 
by no reaſoning ; ; reſting wholly upon a 
ſimple feeling, or in ward ſenſe and conſciouſ- 
neſs of the fact. Upon a like foundation reſts 
our belief of cauſe and effect. No relation 
is more familiar, nor ſooner takes hold of the 
mind, than this. Yet certain it is, that no 
reaſoning, no experience, can diſcover the 
power or energy of what we term a cauſe, 
when we attempt to trace it to its ſource. It 
is neceflary Tor the well-being of man, firſt, 
chat he ſhould perceive the objects, which ex- 


CONCLUSION) 39 
i around him; and next, that he ſhould 
peredive them in theit true ſtate, not detach- 
ed and looſe, but as cauſes” and effects, a8 
producing and produced. Nature has fur- 
niſhed us with external ſenſes for the percep- 
ton of objects, not only as ſimply exiſting, 
but as exiſting thus related to each other. 
Nor, without fach faculties, could we erer 
have attained the idea of cauſe and effect. 
The ſame proviſion is made by nature, in an- 
other caſe, not leſs remarkable than the for- 
mer. Our ſenſes can only inform us of ob- 
jects as preſently exiſting. Yer nothing is 
more common, than from ' our knowledge 
of the preſent,” and our experience, of the 
paſt, to reaſon to the future. Now all rea- 
ſonings about futurity, which have ſuch ex- 
tenſive influence on our conduct, would be 


utterly deſtitute of a Kundiibn were we 


hot endowed with a ſenſe of uniformity and 
conſtancy in the operations of nature. A ſe- 
eret inſtinct founds this concluſion, that the 
future will be like the paſt. Thus there is 
eftabliſhed, a marvelous harmony betwixt our 
inwa rd FO and the courſe of external 

*7 5 events. 


386 CONCLUSION. 

events. In the above mentioned inſtances, 
ve attribute to our boaſted reaſon, what, in 
truth, is performed by ſenſe or inſtinct. With- 
out knowing, it to be ſuch, we truſt to it. We | 
act upon its informations, with equal confi. 
dence, as we do upon the cleareſt concluſi- 
ons of reaſon: and, in fact, i it does not oft- 
ner deceive us. Nature thus moſt effectu- 
ally provides for our inſtruction, in things 
moſt neceſſary to be known. But this is not 
all. We purſue the argument into a ſort of 
intuitive demonſtration of the Deity. He 
has not left us to collect his exiſtence from 
abſtract or uncertain arguments; but has 
made us feel, that he exiſts. When exter- 
nal objects are preſented to our view, . ſome 
are immediately diſtinguiſhed to be effects, 
not by any proceſs or deduction of rea- 
ſoning, but merely by ſight, which giyes us 
the perception of cauſe and effect. Juſt i in 
the ſame manner, this whole world is ſeen, 
or diſcovered, to be an effect produced by 
ſome inviſible deſigning cauſe. This argu- 
ment cannot be invalidated, bent introdu- 


eing 


CONCLUSION. 387 
elng univerſal ſcepticiſm; without overthrow- 
ing all that is built upon the feelings, which, 
in many capital inſtances, govern our judg- 
ments and actions; and without obliging us, 
to doubt of thoſe things, of which no man 
ever doubted. For, as in viewing an exter- 
nal object, a particular modification of the 
ſenſe of ſight, includes the idea of ſubſtance, 
as well as of quality; as a natural feeling 
makes us conceive ſome things as effects, to 
be aſcribed to a proper cauſe ; as, from expe- 
rience of the paſt, inſtin& prompts us to 
judge of the future ; in fine, as, by the feel- 
ing of identity, the reader is conſcious of be- 
ing the ſame perſon he was when he began 
to read: as all theſe concluſions, I ſay, upon 
which mankind Teſt with the fulleſt aſſu- 
rance, are the dictates of ſenſes external and 
internal ; in the very ſame way, and upon the 
ſame evidence, we conclude the exiſtence of a 
firſt Supreme Cauſe. Reaſon, when applied to, 
gives us all its aid, both to confirm the cer- 
tainty of his being, and to diſcover his per- 
fections. From effects ſo great, and ſo good, 

f as 


mY CO NGT. vS10 N. 
as thoſe we ſee through the univerſe, we ne · 
ceſſarily infer the cauſe to be both great and 
good. Mixed or imperfect qualities cannot 
belong to him. The difficulties from appa · 
rent evil, are found capable of a ſatisfactory 
ſolution. All the general laws of the uni- 
verſe, are eonfeſſedly wiſe and good. Pain 
is found not to be uſeful only, but neceſſary 
in the preſent ſyſtem. . If this be an argu- 
ment of an imperfeR ſtate, yet muſt it not 
be admitted, that, ſomewhere in the ſcale af 
exiſtence, an imperfect order of beings muſt 
be found? And why not man ſuch a being ? 
unleſs we extravagantly demand, that, to prove 
the beneyolence of the Deity, all the poſſible 
orders of being ſhould be advanced to the 
top of the fcale; and all be left void and waſte 
mo no life, no exiſtence allowed, except 
what is perfect. The more of nature is 
explored and known, the leſs of eyil appears, 
New diſcoyerics, of wiſdom, order and good 
intention, have always kept pace-with increal- 
ing. learning and knowledge: an intimation, 
not obſcure, of its being owing to gur im- 
* perfect 


CONCLUSION, 389 
perfect diſcoveries and bounded views, that 
evil is ſuppoſed to take place at all. Now, 
when we conſider. all theſe things in one 
view; ſo many ſtriking inſtances of final 
cauſes; ſuch undeniable proofs both of wife 
deſign, and skilful execution; in place of in- 
dulging cold diſtruſt of the great univerſal 
cauſe, are we not raiſed to the higheſt admĩ- 
ration! Ts there not ſomewhat in this ſubject, 
that has power to kindle a noble enthuſi- 
aſm? And that will juſtify us for attempting 
a higher ſtrain} 


For do not all theſe wonders, O Eternag 
« Mind! Sovereign Architect of all! form a 
« hymn to thy praiſe? If in the dead inani- 
« mate works of nature, thou art ſeen ; if 
« jn the verdure of the fields, and the azure 
t of the skies, the ignorant ruſtic admires thy 
creative power; how blind muſt that man 
* be, who, looking into his own nature, 
* contemplating this living ſtructure, this 
% moral frame, diſcerns not thy forming 

* hand? What various and complicated ma. 
| chinery 


| 
| 
| 
| . 
| 
| : 
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| 
| 
| 


30% CONCLUSTON:. 


* chinery is here! and regulated with what 


« exquiſite art! Whilſt man purſues happi- 


V neſs as his chief aim, thou bendeſt ſelf- 


« love into the ſocial direction. Thou in. 


, fuſeſt the generous princi ple, which makes 
* him feel for forrows not his own: nor 


«feels he only, but, ſtrange indeed! takes 
«. delight in ruſhing into foreign miſery ; 
« and, with pleaſure, goes to drop the pain- 
« ful tear, over real or imaginary woes. 
Thy divine hand, thus ſtrongly, drew the 
t connecting tye, and linked man to man, 
« by a ſympathetic power; that nothing 
«© might be ſolitary or deſolate in thy world; 
« but all tend and work toward mutual af- 


& ſociation. For this great end, he is not 
left to a looſe or arbitrary range of will, 
© Thy wiſe decree hath erected within him 


« 4 throne for virtue. There, thou haſt 


e not decked her with beauty only, to his 


« admiring” eye; but thrown around her, 
«* the awful effulgence of authority divme. 
« Her perſuaſtons have the force of a pre- 


* cept; and her precepts are a law indiſpen- 


ſible, 


CONCLUSION, 398 


« ſible. Man feels himſelf, bound by this 


« law, ſtrict and immutable: and yet the pri- 
7 vilege of ſupererogating is left; a field _ 
« pened for free and generous, action; 
« which, performing a glorious courſe, he 
* may attain, the high reward, by thee al- 
6 * lotted, of . honour and elt-eſti- 
10 by ſevere, nothing l t dangerouſly looſe, 
\ 6 in thy moral inſtitution; but every active 
« principle made to know its proper place. 
« In juſt proportion, man's affection diver- 
« ges from himſelf to objects around him. 
| 6 Where the diverging rays, too widely ſcat- 
« tered, begin to loſe their warmth; collect- 
« ing them again by the idea of a public, a 
6 country, or the univerſe, thou rekindleſt 
te the dying flame. Converging eagerly to 
« this point, behold how intenſe they glow! 
6 and man, tho' indifferent to each remote 
« particular, burns with zeal for the whole. 
6 All things are by thee pre-ordained, great 
« Nover of all! Throughout the wide ex 
© < panſe, every living creature runs a deſtin- 
ed 


% 
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39% CONCLUSION. 
«ed courſe. Whilſt all, under a law Ifres 
& ſiſtible, fulfil thy decrees, man alone ſeems 
© to bimſelf exempt; free to turti and bend 
« his courſe at will. Tet is he not exenipt: 
1 but, under the impreſſion of freedom, mi- 
«*niſters, in every action, to thy decree om- 
« niponent, as much as the rolling ſun,” or 
1 ebbing flood: ' What ſtfange contradic- 
tions are, in thy great ſcheme, reconciled ! 1 
7 hat glaring oppolites made to agree! 
« "Necelity: afd liberty meer it the fame a- 
gent, yet interfere not. He imagines 
« himſelf free, yet is under the bonds- of 
* 5 He diſcovers himſelf to be A 


SF p<S © 


« as ke were free. Within the heart of 
« man, thou haſt placed thy lamp, to direct 
« his otherways uncertain ſteps. By this 
« light, he is not only aſſured of the exiſ⸗ 
« tence, and entertained with all the glo- 
« ries of the material world, but is enabl- 
« ed to penetrate into the receſſes of nature. 
« He perceives objects joined together by 
1 « the myſterious link of cauſe and effect. 

« 'The 


CONCLUSION. 393 


« The connecting principle, tho he can ne- 
& yer- explain, he is made to feel, and is 
& thus inſtructed, how to refer even Things 
« unknown, to their proper origin. Nay, 
he is taught by thee, to propheſy Things 

1 to come. Where reaſon is unavailing, 
inſtinct comes in aid, and beſtows à pow- 
re er of divination, which diſcovers the fu- 
ture, by the paſt. Thus, thou gradually 
40 lifreſt him up to the knowledge of thy- 
46 ſelf. The plain and ſimple ſenſe, which, 
t in the moſt obꝰ ious effect, reads and per- 
ceives a cauſe, brings him ſtreight to thee, 
u the firſt great cauſe, the antient of days, 
e the eternal ſource of all. Thou preſent- 
- 4 eft thyſelf to us, and we cannot avoid thee: 

&« We muſt doubt of our own exiſtence; if 
« we call in queſtion thine. We ſee thee 
& by thine own light. We ſee thee, not 
« exiſting only, but in wiſdom and in bene- 
te yolence ſupreme, as in exiſtence, firſt. As 
e ſpots in the ſun's bright orb, ſo in the u- 
.< niverſal plan, ſcattered evils are loſt in the 
* blaze of ſuperabundant goodneſs, Even, 
D d d Ip 


* 


| 
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| 
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394 CONCLUSION. 


ee by the reſearch of human reaſon; weak 28 
* jt is, thoſe: ſeeming evils. diminiſh and fly 
et away apace. Objects, ſuppoſed ſuperflu- 


« ous or noxious, have aſſumed a beneficial 
« aſpect. How much more, to thine all pe- 
« netrating eye, mult all appear excellent 
ei and fair l Itmuſt be ſo. We cannot doubt. 
Neither imperfection. nor malice: dwell 
« with thee.': Thou appointeſt as ſalutary, 
« what we lament as painful. What mor- 
10 tals term ſin, thou pronounceſt to be ons 
« ly error. For moral evil vaniſhes, in ſome 

« meaſure, : from before thy more perfect 

« ſight; and as, at the beginning of days; 


« thou ſawiſt, ſo thou ſeeſt, and pronounc- 
eſt ſtil, e _ thou A . 1 


92 
«6 16 good”. "IT, 7 0 490% 
"= 6 3, 
A fi w > es 


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